


101 Ways to Cope (or not) With Being Post Grad

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 1st Grade Teacher Betty Cooper, Angst disguised as Humor, Apartment Complex, Eventual Smut, Experienced Betty, F/M, Fluff, Friendships Abound - Freeform, Hopefully in a funny way, I cope with my own fears with graduation through Jughead, In Which I think I'm Funny and My Betas Enable Me, Jughead is probably demi sexual, Life is a mess and that's okay, Neighbors, Post-College AU, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Virgin!Jughead, You'd be surprised how important the dogs role is here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-07-28 16:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: College graduation was supposed to open up a never-ending well of possibilities. At least that's what Jughead's counselor had said. If a never ending well of possibilities included sleeping on his best friend's couch while Sweet Pea's dogs ate the last of his shoes, then yeah, they were pretty accurate. Just when things start to look hopeless (even more than when he'd run out of ramen noodles before his paycheck came back in junior year) he submits one last ditch application to Lodge's Luxury Living Apartments: a low income complex with a confusing cast of characters. Veronica owns the place and her husband Archie can’t stop playing his guitar at all hours of the night. There’s wannabe gossip YouTuber Kevin, and whatever the hell is happening between him and his roommates Moose and Midge. Cheryl, a disgraced socialite and her partner Toni, who runs a tattoo parlor and grows a few interesting plants on the balcony.And then theres Betty, who lives just a floor above him and might have the prettiest smile in the entire world. Maybe he’s stumbled into the perfect kind of chaos.or Jughead and Betty are neighbors in a shitty apartment complex and find a little happiness together





	1. Lodge's Luxury Living Apartments

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot explain how excited I am to be posting this story. I've had so much fun writing it and I'm stretching my bones and trying my hand at writing a mostly humor based fic. So I hope I'm as funny as I think I am (and my beta's enable me to be.) Speaking of them, shout out to my lovely betas @bettscoopr, Lyss, who I got to meet this weekend and now has beta powers far beyond our imagination, and Maria @indiebughead who reminds me not to stand too high on my soapbox and tells me I'm funny.
> 
> WHO IS EXCITED FOR THE SEASON 3 PREMIERE IT IS ME I AM!! (a gentle reminder, I can't watch the season live so if you happen to read this immediately post episode, please be kind and don't write spoilers in comments <3)
> 
> I hope you're ready for my sweet slow burn.

To say that these last few weeks had been a nightmare might have been hyperbolic, but waking up on Sweet Pea’s old couch  — weird stains drawing patterns on the cracking polyester that frankly, he didn’t even want to ask about  —  with a crick in his neck and a half pound chihuahua named Godzilla on his stomach, Jughead was inclined to believe that maybe it wasn’t. Especially when the other one, a pomeranian named Dandelion, or Dandy for short, was currently trying to chew through the last pair of tennis shoes he owned. Being a postgrad fucking sucked.

 

When Jughead had finally walked down that long, red carpet and grasped his diploma from President Weatherbee, he had felt so free. There were still debts he’d have to pay, but his partial scholarship left him with only a few grand owed to the government. He had finally gotten the official okay to be the adult he’d always wanted to be. Except it was a lot harder than he thought. Apparently, graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in English didn’t do much for you these days, if the constant letters of rejection and fully failed interviews were any indication. Or maybe it was just him. 

 

Everything had felt so optimistic before, even for someone born and bred to be a realist (some might even say a pessimist). He’d been taking care of himself since he was thirteen, bouncing around foster homes until he finally landed in Sweet Pea’s uncle’s lap.. It wasn’t a terrible arrangement, and he had grown to be as close as brothers with Sweat Pea. Close enough that he had offered Jughead his couch once the dorm rooms were no longer willing to take him in because he “had graduated” and “needed to leave right now, Mr. Jones.”

 

This last month everything had felt borderline hopeless. He stayed at home searching the computer classifieds  — even once venturing onto Craigslist, but that had ended in someone requesting foot fetish pictures for a price that was so high he was almost tempted to agree to it  —  calling every place he could think of to find something. That’s how he ended up doing manual labor at the ass crack of dawn. The job was hardly glamorous, but at least it payed him enough money to save up for a down payment on a crappy apartment in a crappy part of town. If only he could stumble across one of those as well. Most days he felt like some 1950s housewife, making microwave pizza for Sweet Pea to come home to and keeping his small, yappy dogs from destroying everything in the house.

 

He hated Godzilla most of all. That little hairball of anger was a monster crawling straight out of Lucifer’s demonic doggy grooming salon. Sweet Pea pampered him like he was made of gold. And there were only so many times Jughead could laugh at his roommate’s bad dog jokes without punting the dog over the fence. He yapped at night. He yapped during the day. Mostly, he yapped at Jughead, who for some reason, he held a carnal hatred toward. Which the dog showed  by pissing on all of his belongings. Multiple times. He was going to need a new apartment soon, or his roommate was going to be out of a dog. Which probably wouldn’t be too heart breaking. After all, he had an extra.

 

Jughead pulled out his phone  — an outdated iPhone with a crack right across the center he couldn’t remember putting in it but that had been there for two years now  — and quickly checked his emails. There were a few from publishing companies, more rejection letters that he would open up later in the day when he was feeling a little less defeated than he usually did in the mornings. One of these days, he was going to finish his novel and make it big. He’d pay back all his debts, including the one he currently owed to Sweet Pea for letting him live rent-free, even if it was on a pullout couch in a single bedroom apartment where they shared an already cramped bathroom with the dogs’ water and food dishes. Why they couldn’t just go in the kitchen, Jughead had no idea. Apparently Godzilla had “a fear of dishwashers.” 

 

But writing the next great American novel required inspiration, a drug he had not had his fix of in nearly three months. After graduation, all will to write had died along with his soul. Every time he tried to put fingertips to keys, the only thing he had to show for it the next day was a wicked coffee hangover and two sentences of nonsensical gibberish he would always end up deleting. Which was frustrating. Beyond frustrating. His inspiration had left him with such haste it was reminiscent of the time his college roommate's girlfriend had found the messages from his mistress and ran out of the room so fast she almost forgot her underwear. Almost. She managed to grab them from where they had been hanging from a lamp in the living room as she shared awkward eye contact with Jughead on her way out the door.

 

Sweet Pea swore up and down that the reason he was in such desperate straights with his writing was because he was “sexually constipated.” Jughead wasn’t sure how you could be sexually constipated when you had never had a sexual encounter, nor particularly wanted one. As supportive as his friend was, he would never understand the inner workings of Jughead’s sexuality and relationship ineptitude based on fear of intimacy. Sweet Pea fucked whoever he thought was pretty — or handsome — and didn’t consider the repercussions. It was an attitude both baffling and fascinating.

 

Truthfully, there was just never anyone who caught his eye long enough for it to evolve into anything more than a coffee date he wanted to skip out on early. Dating just wasn’t for him. Instead, he would spend his days locked away with a book and a pen, writing until his fingers fell off in a deserted log cabin off the grid and away from the stifling air of capitalism. That was the end goal, anyway. Right now, he was forced to play into all the aspects of society he hated, and wasn’t even making decent money off of it.

 

Post grad life. Sucked.

 

Maybe not as badly as he had originally thought. Jughead sat up, launching Godzilla off his stomach with a shrill bark as he read the latest email in his inbox.

 

_ Dear Mr. Jones, _

 

_ My name is Veronica Lodge-Andrews and I’m writing to you as the landlord of Lodge Luxury Living Apartments. I’ve reviewed your renter’s application and I would like to schedule  a viewing of an apartment that just opened up in my building. I take great pride in my complex and think you would make a lovely addition to my other residents. Please feel free to email me the times and dates that work best for you and we can work something out. I look forward to having you as my tenant. We will discuss more during the showing. Both my email and my phone number are listed below for ease of purpose. _

 

_ Have a lovely day, _

 

_ Veronica C. Lodge-Andrews _

 

“Oh my God.”

 

The clouds had opened up even just a sliver, and the sun peeked out from the doom and gloom, promising him something to call his own, even if it was in an apartment complex with a less-than-positive yelp rating. Godzilla yelped again but Jughead waved him off and dialed the number at the bottom of the email, hoping that it would be open this early in the morning at the high hour of… one in the afternoon. He’d have to figure out where Sweet Pea was and kick his ass for that one later.

 

The phone rang three times. Jughead held his breath, finally exhaling when he heard the receiver click and a cheery female voice answer, “Hello? Veronica Lodge-Andrews speaking.”

 

“Hi Miss...Mrs. Lodge-Andrews?” That felt awkward on his tongue. He hoped he wasn’t the only person to have fumbled so spectacularly on her name. “I’m Jughead Jones. I got your email about the applications and I’m sort of on a time crunch here, so I thought calling would be quicker.”

 

“Jughead? I’m not sure I have an application from a Jughead… Oh! Forsythe! The applications of course! I was actually just thinking about calling you myself so I’m glad you reached out.”

 

“Thank you. Yeah sorry I don’t… I forget I write my legal name on things that require legal documentation. Usually it’s just J. Jones. Anyway, I was wondering when the earliest I could come see the apartment was? As I said I’m in a bit of a hurry to find new living arrangements, my current ones are not…” he watched as Godzilla ripped his sneakers from Dandy’s grasp, growling as he began gnawing at the already frayed shoelaces. “Ideal.”

 

An understatement and a desperate one, but he wasn’t above using his poor situation as a way to move things along faster. Looking around made him feel sad. It was generous of Sweet Pea to offer up his home, but they were already starting to wear each other down with their clashing personalities, and Jughead’s things were taking up space that Sweet Pea didn’t really have, making everything feel tighter and claustrophobic. If he didn’t get out soon, he wasn’t sure he’d still have a relationship with his friend after another three months.

 

The woman on the other end of the phone hummed and he heard the distinct sound of flipping pages on the other end. “How about… today? Are you free around four? I have a meeting at two with… investors,” she said vaguely. “But I’m free after that and I’d love to show you the place.”

 

“That sounds perfect. I’ll meet you at the complex then. Would you mind texting or emailing me the address again?”

 

“Of course. It’s my pleasure. I’m excited to show you around and I’m sure that you’ll absolutely love it. See you at four, Mr. Jones.”

 

“Just call me Jughead. I don’t think I’m owed the title of Mr. Anything Quite Yet.”

 

She laughed on the other end. “Trust me, I know the feeling. Then call me Veronica. I look forward to today.”

 

When she hung up the phone and the text message with the address, and a reminder of the scheduled time, came through, Jughead nearly rocketed out of bed with excitement. Things were finally starting to go his way. He texted Sweet Pea the news and his friend, no doubt hungover in whatever or whoever’s bed he was sleeping in, answered with a single thumbs up emoji and a request he bring back dinner on his way home.

 

If he was going to meet his future landlord — hopefully just as desperate to find a tenant as he was to have an apartment — then he needed to look presentable. Jughead hopped in the shower and allowed himself a few extra minutes to wash off the dog hair that he felt sure was caked into his very DNA at this point. He pulled on his signature gray knit cap and a pair of freshly-washed jeans. They were about the only thing even remotely “fresh” he owned, but they would have to do for this.

 

He left Sweet Pea’s at 3:30, climbed on his bike, and headed in the direction of the complex. Hopefully, they didn’t have a rule against motorcycles, or he was going to have to seriously re-evaluate a few things in his life.

 

The complex was old, located in one of the worst parts of the city that had no doubt once been home to lively chatter and rich folks many years ago, but it was a part of the city Jughead was used to. Most foster families didn’t have the best living situations in the shitty, small town he’d grown up in. It was easy to feel at home among the graffiti marks and crumbling pavement. He parked in one of the empty spots and noticed how few cars were around, even after noon on a Sunday. Perhaps his prospective apartment wasn’t the only one Mrs. Lodge-Andrews was looking to fill.

 

Inside the front room of the single lone building was an elderly man, punching away at numbers on a keyboard. Despite the dreariness in the air, he seemed almost jovial to be there, smiling at Jughead when he entered.

 

“You must be Mr. Jones. Miss Veronica told me you’d be coming. I’m Smithers. I work the front desk here. I’ll page her and let her know that you’ve arrived to see the apartment. Terrible thing what happened to the last tenants, isn’t it? Well, not everyone can be good in a world like this.”

 

With that vague and slightly threatening message, the old man turned to make his phone call. Jughead was contemplating just how badly he needed this room when he saw the woman he suspected to be the landlord enter the lobby. She was small yet intimidating, with a diamond ring on her left ring finger and an ensemble so put together he felt severely under-dressed in his flannel. Her shoes clicked against the tile — most likely linoleum — and she greeted him with a smile and an outstretched hand.

 

“Nice to meet you, Jughead. I’m Veronica. I’m excited to show you around the place. The one we’ve got open is apartment 2B. The first floor is just the lobby, the mailboxes, and the small rec room, so you’re technically on the first floor where the tenants live, not too far away from the elevator.”

 

As she guided him into the building, he couldn’t help but notice that for some reason they took the stairs instead. The decades old wallpaper was peeling in the hallways and the place smelt like a rundown 70s bar — it even had cigarette burns on the walls to match. There had to be decades of history hiding somewhere in the building. Immediately Jughead felt excited. Even if it was a crappy place to live, at least it would be one filled with character, unlike Sweet Pea’s brick shoebox where his “modern aesthetic” consisted of adornments with hard lines and exposed piping instead of any real, classic charm. This place had exactly that, even if the charm came with rats.

 

The letter on the door to the apartment was made of iron, but the number in front of it appeared to be stenciled on poorly as an afterthought, or maybe a replacement for something that had once been. All the while his eyes flitted from falling wallpaper to flickering lights with long-expired bulbs, Veronica talked a million miles a minute about all the luxuries they had. None of them sounded very appealing. There was a pool out back that they were currently cleaning but would be ready for resident use within the next few months. Part of him suspected they had been cleaning it for a long time.

 

“Before we go in, I have one thing to ask.”

 

Veronica frowned, her hands ringing nervously. That did not put his fears to ease. “What is it?”

 

“What happened to the last tenants? The old guy, Smithers I think his name was, said something sort of suspicious. Listen, I don’t care if anyone died in it, I just want to be aware of how much deep cleaning I’m going to have to do to get the smell out.”

 

“Oh! Oh that,” she seemed to relax, waving him off. “Oh it was nothing. Just a small chemical spill, but I did have to terminate their contract after it happened. Don’t worry, we got the area re-carpeted before we started showing the apartment. Now, it’s a one bedroom, one bath, full kitchen. There’s a few furnishings we couldn’t quite get rid of.”

 

The first thing he saw was the stripper pole fixed squarely in the middle of the living room. Jughead couldn’t help but to laugh at the absurdity of it all. At least, if nothing else, he was going to live in a place that would be full of entertainment. 

 

“I promise we sanitized it! Unfortunately it just isn’t something we can get rid of. It might as well be a structural support beam. It’s been a bit of a deal breaker for others seeing it, but I hope it won’t be for you.”

 

Jughead waved her off. “I’ll be honest, this place is cheap and I’m pretty down on my luck right now, so there’s not much you can show me that’ll scare me away.”

 

“Oh thank God,” he heard her mumble, before turning to him with a bright, almost terrifyingly white smile. “How does everything look so far?”

 

“Perfect. How much did you say it was again?”

 

“$1050 a month. A steal for a one-bedroom in New York if I don’t say so myself. How does that sound, Jughead?”

 

He allowed himself a moment to think, going over the numbers in his head again and again. Even in the down season of construction he would probably be making enough to afford rent, groceries, and a few other necessities to keep things going. Maybe even an internet connection if he could save up enough for it. Sure, the apartment had it’s issues — what looked to be a dead rat in the corner for one thing, a thought he didn’t want to linger too much on — but it would be completely and utterly his; the first of its kind.

 

Less-than-ideal living circumstances were something quite familiar to him. Living on the streets for a large chunk of his life had made even the most cramped of closets feel like a palace. So this, with a shower, a kitchen, and even a bedroom for so little, was appealing. It was certainly a far cry from the drive-in projection booth he had lived in his sophomore year of high school.

 

“I’ll take it,” he said finally, trying to feel as confident as his voice sounded. So what if it had a stripper pole? That meant character. And maybe he’d get Sweets drunk enough during a visit to see him fall off of it. “Where do I sign?”

 

The paperwork was mind numbingly boring, and the deposit made him blanch. At least he wouldn’t be paying extra for a pet, even though it was obvious from the state of the carpets that the last tenants had certainly had one, or two, or eight. Animals were not usually Jughead’s forte. You couldn’t feed a cat burgers and fries.

 

He couldn’t help breaking into a smile once he signed and initialed the last couple of lines. “When can I move in?”

 

“We’re going to do a clean of it first, but you can consider it reserved. Your move-in date is this Friday, if you’re ready to do it that soon.”

 

“More than. I’ll see you Friday.”

 

She gave him the keys to both the apartment and mailbox, a sticker for his car that indicated apartment residency (not that he was sure where to put it on his bike), and all the rest of the apartment complex information. They parted with a wave. Smithers tipped his hat in a way that left him feeling less than comforted, but at least this was it. Finally, the first steps into adulthood.

 

The first steps into adulthood sucked. In a panic, he realized he had absolutely no furniture to put to an apartment and dragged a very hungover Sweet Pea to a mattress store with him to buy the cheapest one he could find. A proper bed frame could wait until later, but a mattress was an absolute emergency. He wasn’t exactly planning on sleeping on the floor for the rest of his days, though it would probably be just as comfortable as the couch from hell. There were a few old pots and pans that Pea was willing to part with for a handful of crumpled dollar bills, and it wasn’t like he was adverse to living off of paper plates and plastic forks until he was able to get properly settled in to his new home. Not that Jughead had any idea how to cook a dish more complex than spaghetti and microwavable pizza. Once, in college, he had nearly lit his term paper on fire after setting it on the toaster oven. (For the briefest of seconds! It’s not like he’d meant for the RAs to come rushing in accusing them of smoking weed, which his roommate definitely did have on his person, earning them both citations all because of a slightly crisp bagel.)

 

When move in day finally came, Jughead felt a wave of nausea overtake him. It was uncomfortable to venture out on his own after having cohabitated with someone for the past four and a half years of his life, not including his foster families. But this was for the best. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself to chase away some of the worries. Solitude was something he valued more than even the tastiest milkshake on the menu at Pop’s, the diner back home he practically grew up in, and at least he’d have that. As much as he loved Sweet Pea, having him hover over his shoulder did not make his long forgotten muse any more inclined to return to him.

 

“Jesus, Jug, could you have a few less movies and books? What the hell do you even have all this junk for?” 

 

They plopped down the last of the boxes and the large mattress in the center of the tight bedroom. Jughead had even splurged a little and bought himself brand new sheets and a comforter without an excessive number of holes in it.

 

“Coming from you that doesn’t mean shit. You have all those vintage playboys stacked under your bed.”

 

“Those are art. This is crap.”

 

It was an age-old argument that, between his pained joints and monster headache, he was not particularly in the mood to be a part of today. So he rolled his eyes, tossed a sweaty rag at his friend, and pointed at the balcony.

 

“Come have a smoke with me before I kick you out.”

 

“Such hospitality. Not even going to feed me for helping you out?”

 

“Take your cigarette and shut up or I’ll feed you my boot into your ass, Sweets.”

 

Outside on the small balcony, they enjoyed a relative moment of peace and quiet as the reality of no longer being roommates settled between them. It would be a curse and a blessing. As much as Jughead was loath to admit it, Sweet Pea was a good guy who was there for him during some of his toughest times. And the times he remembered least. Especially that one time Sweet Pea had made bathtub moonshine. Not that he could recall anything that had happened that night, or really even the next day, other than the fact that he woke up smelling like an unholy mix of peanut butter and flaming hot cheetos, but he knew Sweet Pea was by his side the whole time.

 

One floor up and slightly to the left, Jughead heard the distinct pattering of shoes against the unstable concrete slabs the balconies were made of. He leaned against the metal railing to get a closer look, only to jump back when it groaned under his weight.

 

“You live in a shithole.” 

 

Jughead glared at his friend, not bothering to dignify him with a response. He heard gentle humming and the sound of a plastic water can smacking the stucco walls. Suddenly, a swirl of red appeared in his vision, and he met the eyes of a woman who could only be described as a beautiful harpy straight from Greek mythology. Or at least, a very pretty girl around his age with a fire of hatred in her eyes he had not seen burn with such intensity in anyone other than perhaps Godzilla after a bath.

 

“Who are you hobos?”

 

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me, Judd Nelson. Who are you? Last I checked Walter and Jesse lived underneath us. Not that I care that they’re gone. Their presence always did make the place smell rancid.”

 

“Jesus, Ginger Rogers, you always so hostile to new comers?” Sweet Pea asked. The woman’s eyes narrowed and she tipped the watering can straight over, emptying the rest of its contents on his balcony. Sweets barely managed to jump out of the way. “What the fuck was that for?”

 

“No one attempts to insult Ginger Rogers like that, you neanderthal. Tell me you’re just helping your friend move in and you’re not the new tenant, Gang Wars?”

 

Jughead cut in to prevent any further damage, both verbal and physical. “Yeah that’s me. I’m Jughead Jones. And you are?”

 

“Far out of your league and taken.”

 

“Cherry!” another female voice hollered, and suddenly there was a swatch of pink to join the red. The other girl smirked down at them. “Oh yeah. Veronica sent out that memo about a new neighbor. I’m Toni Topaz, and this is my wife Cheryl Blossom; she insisted on keeping the name.”

 

“It’s absolutely barbaric and archaic to insist on taking another person’s name when you’re married. Besides, it was either this, or we end up like the Lodge-Andrews, and it’s impossible to swallow that. You really think Blossom-Topaz sounds good?”

 

“I suggested Topaz-Blossom but you weren’t having that either.”

 

Sweet Pea’s eyes squinted and he pointed up. “Wait, Cheryl Blossom? Like Cherry Bombshell, the girl who used to be in the Blossom empire before her ex-girlfriend released that sex tape because she was bitter and it ended up on every revenge porn website this side of the United States?  _ That  _ Cheryl Blossom?”

 

Dear God, Jughead was going to buy a gag for his best friend. Or maybe a muzzle. No, Sweet Pea would probably enjoy both of those things too much. Instead, he gave him a swift kick to the knee.

 

Cheryl, on the other hand, was not going to let him off so easily. She fumed and tossed another can of water down at him, cursing in languages that neither of them could understand, but were threatening enough that he felt like curling up and quivering in fear.

 

“I bet you jerked off to more than one of those clips, you disgusting pig. So maybe you should be worshipping the ground I walk on instead.”

 

“Maybe you should smoke some of that weed you’re growing on your balcony. You’ve got a license for that, I’m sure?”

 

“Alright, we’re going to go back inside now.” Toni grabbed her wife’s arms and started to drag her away, but not before yelling, “If you want anyone to fix that ugly tattoo on your neck give me a holler! It’s my profession by trade.”

 

Sweets began to rub the spot on his neck self-consciously. “Bitches. Couldn’t help but wonder if the carpet matches the drapes on both of them.”

 

“You are disgusting. Why the hell are we friends?”

 

“Unwavering loyalty and virtue of both being pieces of shit.”

 

“That is… a fair assessment.”

 

After taking a minute to settle down and go back inside, Sweet Pea gave him a hug and told him to call if he needed anything-- an offer he would take up only if his leg had been ripped from his body and he was magically beating himself to death with it. While loyal, Sweets was not the kind of guy you called when in a pickle that did not involve violence. (However, if you needed someone in a bar fight, he had a collection of knives worth looking into.) Come to think of it, it was a miracle Jughead’s move had gone so smoothly. They parted ways and Jughead flopped to the ground in the living room, the place a couch would go whenever he found the money to buy one. If he ever found the money to buy one. 

 

Just as he was starting to relax, his eyes fluttering closed despite the carpet having a distinctly musty smell — something he had learned living with Sweet Pea was that most often it was just better to not ask questions-- there was a loud knock at the door. Jughead groaned and for a minute genuinely contempled ignoring the sound. But then the wrap came again and he was forced to pull himself up off the ground and stumble toward the door. On the other side of the peephole, he saw bright red hair, though not as deep a color as the hair of the passionate and oddly terrifying woman from above. This time, it belonged to a wider man with muscles so tight in his cardigan, Jughead thought the blue stitching might split. He certainly did not look like the type to be holding a small ficus with the sign “welcome to the neighborhood” on it. Out of curiosity more than anything else, he opened the door.

 

“Hey. Can I help you?”

 

The red head nodded and thrust the plant forward. “Yeah, this is for you. Wait sorry, shit, let me introduce myself first. I’m Archie Andrews, Veronica’s husband. We live on the fourth floor, but I wanted to come down and say hi. Also, she sort of just threw this flower into my arms and told me to go meet the neighbor. So here I am. Meeting the neighbor.”

 

His awkwardness was slightly endearing and Jughead couldn’t find it in his heart to be anything but amused by his attitude. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll just put it on the kitchen bar.” Thankfully the place came with that particular feature, making it so all he’d need was a few chairs instead of the an entire kitchen table. Soon he was going to need to go thrift shopping.

 

He took the flower and placed it on the cheap surface. “I’m Jughead, by the way. Is this a welcome to the apartment complex ficus?”

 

The man frowned. “What the hell is a ficus? Sounds contagious.”

 

Jughead blinked. And then he laughed. And laughed again. There had been no shortage of interesting characters today, that was for sure. “It’s just a plant. Thanks for coming by.”

 

“Yeah, no problem man. I just wanted to warn you that it’s Friday, so you’ll probably hear me playing later than I usually do. The walls are paper thin but I don’t play any later than eleven or I’d get murdered by my wife.”

 

“Sounds fair. What do you play?”

 

Archie’s eyes lit up like an excited little kid on christmas. “I play guitar. But I sing, too. Goal is to one day make music, but isn’t that everybody’s dream these days? I’m an elementary school music teacher during the day to help pay the bills. What about you?”

 

“I work construction. Which is not something I imagined doing with my expensive English degree, but it’s all a… work in progress currently.”

 

“I get it man,” he nodded with a sense of wiseness Jughead did not feel was entirely earned. “Do you need anyone to show you around? I know Veronica said she gave you a tour, but that doesn’t really show off the real things in this place.”

 

“And what exactly are the real things?”

 

“The people.”

 

Jughead was not sure how, but Archie had managed to convince him to slip on his shoes and join him for a walk around the complex as he pointed at various doors and explained the lives of the occupants living behind them. Most of the stuff was boring, aside from the additional knowledge about Cheryl and Toni that he wanted to write down later to use as potential novel inspiration.

 

“She’s scary,” Archie grimaced. “We all know that though. And she knows we all know. But Toni’s pretty cool. We get along well. Then Betty lives directly above you. She teaches with me, first grade.”

 

“That’s just swell. Anything else I should know before I go take a nap on my mattress?”

 

“Yeah, just one thing. Your neighbors — ”

 

In the fashion of a true Shakespearean comedy, the door to the left of his apartment blew open and out stalked a small women with dark hair and a mousy face, a small man with perfectly combed locks and a nice ironed slacks, and a larger man who seemed confused and disoriented by whatever was going on.

 

“Kevin, man, you know I didn’t mean to drop it!”

 

“But you did, Moose!”

 

Moose? Who the hell was named Moose these day? Then again, his name was Jughead, so maybe people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

 

“But you did it anyway! I was recording a clip for my show and then you knocked over the tripod! You need to pay better attention!”

 

The mousy girl spoke up. “Kevin, come on. It was an accident.”

 

Archie learned over, lowering his voice to what Jughead assumed the human puppy thought was a quiet volume. “That’s Kevin, Moose, and Midge. No one really knows what's happening with them, but Veronica thinks Moose is sleeping with both of them and they all just don’t talk about it. Honestly, I’m too scared to ask at this point, even though Moose and I went to high school together. Kevin’s trying to make it big on youtube or something I guess. He’s like a gossip channel? Reaction channel? I forgot what he called it. I’ve seen a few of the videos but mostly just when Veronica leaves them on. And then I somehow end up watching twelve of them in a row.”

 

“Seems… intense. Listen, I’m exhausted so I’m probably just going to go back to my — ”

 

And then they were on him, the sound of his voice acting like a beacon, pulling all eyes towards the newcomer. Kevin was on him first, asking a million questions a minute that Jughead did not have the answers to, nor would be inclined to give them if he did. Moose seemed the most normal of the threesome. Though, to be fair, Midge didn’t speak much, just gave him a little wave.

 

“So, what brings you to our humble little complex?” Kevin asked.

 

Jughead shrugged vaguely. “An apartment cheap enough so I can actually start saving money.”

 

“We all have our things. Nice to meet you, by the way. We got the email earlier but I hadn’t expected you to be out wandering the halls so soon.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, neither did I.”

 

This email thing was slightly worrying, but he tried not to dwell too much on it. If there were groups of people as close knit with the landlord as to get emails about new residents, then he was going to be the odd one out again. That was a sadly typical reality, and he’d grown accustomed to it. Most of Jughead’s life had been spent on the outside looking it, and it wasn’t something that troubled him too much. At least that way he could keep himself protected from more disappointment.

 

“Well,” Moose said. “If you ever want to hang out we’re like, right here. Midge makes an awesome pineapple upside down cake. We bring it to the potlucks at Veronica’s every Saturday.”

 

“Saturday potlucks. Right.” Maybe he would figure out a way to wiggle into the community after all, especially if it meant free food on a semi regular basis. He’d make sure to be the first person to volunteer to bring cups. “I’ll be sure to look out for those. Now, seriously, I need to get back to my apartment and try and take a nap before the insomnia keeps me up all night.”

 

Kevin wrote down his youtube information on the back of a card he magically produced from his pockets, and the group let Jughead go back to his door. Archie walked the short distance there with him.

 

“If you ever want to go out for drinks or something just let me know. Moving sucks, so sometimes it’s nice to know the people you’re living with aren’t mean or anything. Just a little… weird.”

 

Drinks with Archie did not sound like the most terrible thing in the world. Maybe having a friend other than Sweet Pea could be beneficial to him becoming that well rounded human being he always heard his counselors talk about at college. He gave a noncommittal shrug but took Archie’s number when he offered it.

 

“See you around, Jughead. Nice meeting you.”

 

“Yeah, you too.”

 

He stumbled his way into the bedroom when the door closed, falling face first into the thick mattress with a groan. At least the sweet embrace of slumber would wrap him in its arms and give him some peace of mind. Except it didn’t. Whatever tiredness he’d felt before had dissipated, leaving him with the worst kind of sleep blue balls and a vague haze of exhaustion. Jughead pulled out his laptop and started to write down everything he had seen today. It gave him something to do while he tried to focus on finding a sedated state of mind that was more conducive to slumber than his current mental state. 

 

For dinner, Jughead microwaved himself a cup of ramen — only burning himself a little on the hot ceramic cup — and curled up in bed with a nine hour “sounds of the sea” compilation to hopefully help put him to sleep. Around eleven, the gentle strums of Archie’s guitar had dissipated and nothing but tranquility filled his mind and numbed his nerves. Full, satisfied, and finally feeling tired again, his eyes slowly began to flutter closed as a seagull cried over head.

 

And then it barked.

 

Wait. Seagulls certainly did not bark.

 

Whatever was behind the door barked again, followed by the loud hiss of a cat. Jughead sat up, finally convinced that this was not some strange subliminal mind fuckery from whoever had uploaded the video, and instead a whole lot of noise coming from the upstairs apartment. It wasn’t the same kind of noise as Archie’s guitar. That at least was melodious. This was a the most tragic kind of cacophony.

 

Maybe he should have just let it go, should have just rolled over and hid his head in the pillows until he finally fell asleep, but some strange sense of duty compelled him to stand and at least grab a broom and bang on the ceiling like some middle aged witch with twelve cats. Bits of debris fell down and Jughead vowed never to do that again. Lodge Apartments was one of those places where an asbestos warning in this day in age would not be something completely out of left field. He coughed and wiped the dust from his hair before slipping on his shoes and making the long trek up to the third floor.

 

Just as he had suspected, the elevators were currently out of commission. Not that it stopped him from standing there for five minutes, squinting at the buttons as if they would magically turn on when they sensed his anger. Halfway up the flight of stairs, Jughead contemplated turning around and going straight back down to avoid whatever confrontation was coming. But he needed sleep and if that noise kept up, he would not be getting it. So, with a heavy heart and a groan, he leapt up the last few steps and wandered through the halls.

 

Apartment 3A. The iron lettering on this door was well taken care off, and he noticed a white board with a note penned in black dry erase marker. “ _ I’m home! Don’t be afraid to knock!”  _ There was a little smiley face next to it. Placing his bets now, Jughead might guess Betty was a middle aged woman. Archie hadn’t described his upstairs neighbor much more than to say she was a first grade teacher who loved baking, so certainly his suspicions weren’t too far off. Maybe her cats had gotten into an argument.

 

He knocked once and waited. When no reply came, he knocked again. The third knock was less than polite, followed by a, “Hello?!” Just as the words left his lips, Jughead was greeted with another loud bark. Yes, Betty was certainly the culprit harboring the loud animals. He squared his shoulders and got ready for an argument about human decency and keeping your pets quiet when it got to midnight.

 

Every word died on his tongue the instant the door opened. As it turned out, Betty Cooper was not a grey-haired woman with horn-rimmed glasses, but instead a sweet looking, blonde-haired girl around his age in a fluffy pink robe and horn-rimmed glasses. His throat felt dry. His eyes felt dry. Was he blinking? Oh god, he wasn’t blinking. He forced himself to flutter his eye lashes, only to get a strange look from the girl.

 

It was then that it occurred to him she was waiting for him to speak, since it was him who had initiated their awkward social interaction by knocking on her door at 11:30 in the evening on a friday.

 

“Hi.” What genius level phrasing. Truly he was a masterful poet of the English language. Shakespeare watch out, Jughead Jones was coming for your powdery white wig.

 

“Um… hey… can I help you?”

 

She seemed nervous, which was a perfectly rational feeling given the way Jughead was staring at her like his eyeballs might pop out of his head at any moment. He had never seen a girl so pretty before, so soft. He was noticing things about her that he had never noticed about another person. Like the smallness of her wrists and the way her lips were slightly curved at the corners. He felt sweaty. Maybe this was a sign to just run away, find a new complex where there wasn’t a pretty girl living above him.

 

“Yeah. Yes.” The dog barked and Jughead was reminded of why he was here. That stupid noise that was keeping him up. He channeled his confusion, both sexual and otherwise, into anger. “Your dog keeps barking and it’s keeping me awake.”

 

Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry, do you live here? Oh! Oh wait! The email. V sent it out. You’re Jughead then, right? Oh gosh I’m sorry, I’m  _ so  _ sorry. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. I wanted to bake a pie and bring it down but I got so busy at school today and then one of the parents yelled at me for giving her son a B+ on his paper instead of an A, but it’s not my fault he completely missed the point of the assignment, is it? Everyone else understood.”

 

Even as she rambled, he thought she looked pretty in the pastels drenching her from head to toe, like some ethereal butterfly masquerading as a human woman. He felt a flicker of inspiration and itched to pick up his pen again for the first time in weeks. Maybe he could find something interesting to write about tonight before finally hitting the hay.

 

“Sorry. Sorry I just, oh I’m so sorry about all this. I didn’t expect the noise to be so bad and normally Caramel is fine with dogs, but this one is so much bigger than she’s used to so she gets scared and scratches and then he gets mad and barks. But my friend begged me to foster one of the animals and I couldn’t say no when she told me how crowded it was at her shelter.”

 

An orange tabby cat came slinking up, wrapping herself around her owner’s legs and letting out a meow of frustration until Betty picked her up and held her close. She turned to Jughead with an apologetic smile. 

 

“I promise I’ll get it under control. She said sheep dogs were supposed to be smart and I’m sure he is, but he hates listening. I think he’s trying to herd Caramel. I’ve been doing research all night.”

 

“Sheep dogs do that. My… my dad and I used to have one,” he explained vaguely. No need to bring up anything more than that. It had been the one dog in the history of his entire life that he could stand. At least big dogs knew they were dogs. Sweet Pea’s might as well have been hairballs. “Do you need some help?”

 

“Oh no really it’s--” 

 

If she was going to say fine, the comment flew from her mind as the fluffy Old English sSheepdog barreled forward, bumping into her calves and heading straight for Jughead. The dog barked once before beginning his assault. It was an endless stream of kisses to every part of Jughead’s skin — and the old barbecue sauce stain on his t-shirt.

 

“Hot Dog! Hot Dog down!” Betty groaned. “Come on boy, please? Do you want a treat? God, I’m so sorry.”

 

Jughead shook his head, pushing the dog off easily. It circled his feet before headbutting him once in the direction of Betty’s kitchen. “Sorry, I’m not in the mood to be herded, boy. Nice try though. And stop apologizing. I get it. His name’s Hot Dog? I can appreciate that.”

 

Any other day, to any other person, and he might have snapped, told them to keep their dogs quiet, and gone back downstairs. But the poor woman looked exhausted. There were kitten claw marks on her arms and hands and he could tell by the dark purple bags under her eyes that this dog was slowly draining the life out of her.

 

And then he did something unthinkable.

 

“Do you want me to take him for a bit?”

 

Betty’s eyes went wide. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. We only just met and you’re probably still trying to move in. I’m the one who agreed to it so he’s my responsibility.”

 

“I insist, Betty. It’s not an issue for me. If they’re separated, maybe we’ll both get some sleep tonight. I think everyone else in the complex would probably thank us. You mentioned pie earlier, right? Make me some of that and we’ll call it square.”

 

At first, it seemed like she wasn’t going to accept, but then another bark reverberated off the walls and from behind closed doors, a couple of the other neighbors shouted less than friendly complaints. With shoulders slumped, she resigned. “Okay. If a pie is all it takes then you’re a cheap dog sitter. Thank you so much for this. I promise it’ll only be for a night or two. The weekend at maximum. You’re a lifesaver.”

 

“That’s me. Practically a superhero.”

 

“What’s your favorite kind of pie? I’ll get started on it tomorrow when I’ve got the time.”

 

“Oh, dangerous question. A good chocolate mousse is always delicious, but I don’t mind something traditional like apple. Peach pie can go one of two ways for me so the recipe has to be good, same with key lime. It can get too sour if you make it wrong.”

 

Betty giggled. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was talking to a pastry connoisseur. I should have asked first.”

 

“Well you know what they say, never assume because something, something, over played cliche, something, something.”

 

“Oh, so you’re a funny guy, too. I’ll have to remember that.” Was she batting her eyelashes at him, or did she have something in her eye? A confused panic started in his very soul and radiated to his limbs, making him want to flee in a blind panic. Instead, he was rooted to the spot he stood like a bitter, resilient tree. “Let me grab you Hot Dog’s leash.”

 

She appeared quickly with the blue, woven leash in her hands, as well as a stuffed yellow crown with a squeaker inside. “He’s attached to this. It was apparently his security blanket growing up, so he won’t destroy it, but he also won’t sleep without it around. I don’t know how to thank you enough for this. I promise I’ll make you the best pie you’ve ever had.”

 

“I don’t doubt it. I look forward to stuffing my face with it. If you need anything you know where to find me. Or maybe you don’t, because the numbers on my apartment look like they’re peeling away.”

 

“Oh, they look that way for most people. It’s not in the best shape but… it’s home. I’ll see you soon, Jug.” Betty waved before disappearing back into her apartment. 

 

“So you’ve got a thing for crowns too, huh?” he said, smiling down at the puppy and remembering the beanie his mother had knit him that he always wore, currently tucked under his mattress for the night. “I think we’ll get along fine.”

 

Back home, when all the lights had been turned off, the ocean sounds were mingling with Hot Dog’s loud snores, but Jughead couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty blonde woman living on the floor above. In that moment he realized he was starting this chapter of his life the same way he had ended the last: with a dog sleeping on his chest and no money in his pockets. Well, at least it would be exciting.


	2. One Man's Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Betty comes over and finds Jughead's apartment severely lacking character (and a bed frame) she drags him out into the city to show him around. All the while, Jughead struggles with his developing...something for her and tries desperately to keep his foot out of his mouth during every conversation they have. (He is not particularly successful.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loves and kisses to everyone who is reading this piece of friction. I'm grateful for every lovely comment and kudos and ask I get. Every comment has severely made my bad week better. (I fell down a ladder! A LADDER! at a clothing store! Only me, I swear.) I have a lot of good things planned for this fic so I hope you stick around with me!
> 
> As always, hugs and kisses and eternal gratitude to my betas @indiebughead and @bettscoopr. You're angels and I love you <3

Having a dog was a hell of a lot more work than Jughead expected it to be. There had been times where Sweet Pea was out for days on end with only sporadic text messages to indicate he wasn’t dead—not yet, anyway—where it had been his job to take care of Dandy and Godzilla. For the most part, they had avoided him, instead opting to cuddle up on Sweets’ bed and bark loudly at him when they needed food. Big dogs were a whole different ball game.

 

There was once, a long time ago, back before the state deemed his alcoholic father an unfit parent, that his family had owned a sheepdog. He was an old stray—they named him Milkdud—who had wandered into their trailer one morning and refused to leave, effectively becoming Jughead’s responsibility like everything else in the house was. He made sure everyone was fed. Himself. His dog. His dad. When the police and social services came to take him away, Milkdud had bit an officer and that was the last he’d ever heard or seen from him. If nothing else, he could thank FP Jones for childhood trauma that prepared him for the future.

 

You could not simply leave a sheepdog’s food out and expect them to feed themselves. They were big and hungry and liked to eat that way. As a sacrifice to appease the monster, Jughead had picked two of his few pots and filled them up with food and water respectively. Thankfully, Betty had come by briefly to drop off Hot Dog’s food, apologizing profusely for having to leave quickly and saying she would come by sometime in the following week to check on him, as well as to bring Jug that pie she promised him. A family emergency had stolen her away from New York for a week, back to whatever little town she had grown up in, but he’d promised to text her daily updates on the dog’s well being.

 

At least it was an excuse to text her everyday. Their conversations were a good distraction from his daily grind of construction, dinner, sleep, repeat. Every now and again the inspiration would strike and he would write a few lines of his passion project, but those were rare, fleeting moments, usually brought on by a conversation with Betty. They didn’t talk about anything other than bare bones basics. One might describe it as casual, first date small talk. 

 

Well, maybe. Jughead didn’t have much frame of reference to what that would be like, as he had never been on one date in his entire twenty-two years on this planet. Which, to be fair, was not something he was particularly bothered by. Dating was scary. Dating was a pain in the ass. Dating was also just blah. He had never found someone that he felt enough of a connection with to bother asking out. Certainly the only person he was really close enough with was Sweet Pea, but the thought of even breathing the same air as him for long periods of time felt a little sickening. That man always had dorito breath. So Jughead wouldn’t be asking him out any time soon.

 

In general, life had been on an upward swing ever since he’d made his grand escape from the confines of couch living. For the most part, anyway. There were plenty of things about his apartment complex that the week had enlightened him about.

 

1) When Archie said the walls were paper thin in the complex, he was not wrong.

 

Just the other night, he had overheard the upstairs neighbors, Toni and Cheryl, going at it. At first it sounded like a stereotypical couple’s argument, one he could ignore by popping in his headphones and trying desperately to get some writing done. Throughout the night things got louder and the screaming was...not what he expected it to be. At least to put it nicely.

 

Shouts and moans mingled into an unpleasant cacophony, until all he could wonder was if he had begun hallucinating, or if this was a very real thing he would have to deal with for the rest of his days at Lodge’s Luxury Apartments. He had dared to text Archie a complaint about the noise. He got back to Jughead quickly, apologizing for the noise, but saying there was nothing they could do about it. Veronica was out of town as moral support for Betty, and she was the only person Cheryl respected enough to bother listening too.

 

A few days later he stumbled into Toni at the mailbox. When she offered him a smile and a wave, all he could think about was the sound of her girlfriend screaming out in hedonistic pleasure, “Oh god yes, Daddy, yes!” There were a lot of questions he thought better to be left unanswered. At least for now. 

 

Probably for forever.

 

2) Kevin’s YouTube channel was stupidly addictive.

 

The problem with working early mornings was the emptiness he was left with for the rest of the day. On Wednesday—after bootlegging the neighbors unprotected WiFi—Jughead had been so bored he dared to open up a tab with Kevin’s channel, Kevinthwonder. While social media gossip wasn’t usually his cup of tea, the way his neighbor presented his information was certainly compelling. It helped that every now and again he would post a conspiracy theory video that tickled Jughead’s fancy in the best of ways. (Look, no one could convince him that Bush didn’t do 9/11. No one.)

 

There was also a true crime mystery series he posted one Friday out of each month that Jughead became utterly addicted to. By the end of it, he was writing down his theories and contemplating knocking on the door and presenting the notes to Kevin like some overzealous middle schooler with a few love letters. He settled for writing out an email he may or may not decide to forward under a pseudonym to the channel’s listed PO box at a later date.

 

3) He really wanted to see Betty again.

 

While their meeting had been painfully brief, Jughead couldn’t deny his favorite part of his week had been their text exchanges. Never before had he been so intrigued by someone. She was stunning aesthetically, of course, but he thought the way her lips curved into a smile and the quick wit she showed off during their conversations were even more amazing than her all-American beauty. It wasn’t everyday he found someone who could match his meme skill tit for tat. Usually, Sweet Pea just threatened to block him.

 

Even though most of their communications were about the dog, he liked talking to her. He didn’t like talking to anyone. At work, the other guys would constantly tease him for being such a lone wolf, hanging on the outskirts of the group even during lunch breaks. People were better to watch. In his entire life, Jughead could count on one hand the people he called friends and still have fingers to spare.

 

It was easy for him to create stories in his mind at a safe distance. That construction worker had a wife and kids who he would come home to every night. The woman at the park liked tea and feeding the birds on her days off. Fantasy depictions of people built much more on sense than sitting down and trying to understand what motivated them. When he was talking to someone else, he never knew how they were going to react, what they were going to do, if they were going to like him. It was easier to avoid those troubling thoughts and sit contentedly by himself and a few close confidants. Only he wanted Betty inside that inner circle, which was a strange and troubling phenomenon.

 

Jughead’s phone buzzed, pulling him from his confusing inner musings for a moment. It was a text from the woman tucked into every corner of his thoughts.

 

**Betty:**

How’s the puppy, Jug? I hope doing okay?

 

**Jughead:**

Good. You make it back ok? I heard traffic was bad.

 

**Betty:**

Not terrible. I’m just exhausted. But I started your pie tonight! Chocolate mousse, right? It’s in the fridge cooling.

 

He sat staring at the text longer than necessary, surprised that she had bothered to remember not only her pastry promise, but which kind of pie he had requested too. It was baffling to him. There were not people as good as Betty in the real world. Maybe she was some fairytale princess who’d made an escape into reality from some kindergartener’s storybook.

 

**Jughead:**

Yeah that sounds great, thanks. I won’t keep you up though.

 

**Betty:**

Jug it’s only 9 PM.

 

His eyes shot to the clock and narrowed. Oh. These last few days the insomnia had caught up to him. Or maybe that was Hot Dog’s repeated attempts at smothering him in his sleep because his face was a better pillow than the $30 dog bed he’d bought at Petco the other day.

 

**Jughead:**   
Oh yeah. Woke up early for work today. Construction.

 

**Betty:**

Than I’ll let you sleep. I’ll come by sometime tomorrow with the pie and to see Hot Dog. Are you sure you don’t need me to take him back?

 

**Jughead:**

No, it’s fine. I don’t mind the company. I’m a homebody so having someone to talk to is nice. I think he’s finally starting to appreciate classic cinema. We watched Blue Velvet last night and he howled along with the songs. But I think his favorite is White Fang. He thinks he’s a beast.

 

**Betty:**

lol, omg! I love that movie. Blue Velvet, not really White Fang. I wish I had more time to watch movies, but between teaching and grading and trying to apply to master’s programs I haven’t found the hour to devote to a movie.

 

**Jughead:**

Well if you ever need a safe space, I’ve got a mattress on the floor that I don’t mind sharing.

I mean that in a non-creepy way.

Like if you want to just come over and watch movies. Not like you have to be in my bed.

I just don’t have a couch.

Haha.

 

His forehead meeting his phone was not near as painful as the exchange he had just participated in. There was nothing worse than when his word vomit got the best of him. On good days, he could write prose as eloquent as Shakespeare, but put him in a situation like this and he became a fumbling idiot who had trouble stringing two sentences together. He was running into that problem a lot more than usual when talking to Betty.

 

**Betty:**

It’s okay Juggie, I knew what you meant! I’ll definitely take you up on that offer soon! Sleep well! :)

 

Maybe he was reading too much into it, but the little heart emoji she sent after made his own heart twist in the most painful of ways. He felt sick. Were these the butterflies everyone always mentioned growing up? 

 

Gross, he hated them.

 

He texted her a goodnight anyway (no heart, he wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment yet) and fell fast asleep thanks to the surprisingly comforting sounds of Hot Dog’s snores. 

 

The next morning, he was startled awake with a loud bang, followed by the energic barks of a very hyper dog. Jughead groaned and made a lazy shuffle towards the door. He peeked out the peephole, confused when he saw not a person, but instead an entire pie. This must be some strange, waking dream, because sentient pies were the type of nightmare fuel that only existed in his Benadryl-induced stupors. The pie knocked again.

 

Or maybe there was a person on the other end of it. He saw a patch of pretty blonde hair and remembered Betty’s promise from last night. Excited, he threw open the door, not aware that it would cause Hot Dog to panic, launching forward and clawing at the poor girls ankles. She smiled and patted his head.

 

“Oh yes, I missed you too, Hot Dog, but it was nice to know you were well taken care of while I was back home. Thank you again, Jug. I know I’ve said it about a million times. When you said you’d help watch him, I wasn’t expecting being gone for a week and just leaving you here floundering, but family called.”

 

He shook his head, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes so he could properly focus on the pie-bearing angel of his dreams. “No, it’s okay. We’re pals now. He even sleeps with me, despite the fact I bought him a useless bed.”

 

“Oh, they do that. I buy Caramel toys all the time and that snobby little kitten only wants to tear up my socks or my sofa. Is there a place I can put this down?”

 

Jughead brought her into the kitchen, where he was grateful his counters were relatively clean and there were only one or two dishes in the sink that needed to be taken care of sooner rather than later. He started the coffee pot—his most prized possession, his holy grail, his entire reason for living—and waited for the liquid gold to pour out of it. Taking a minute, he looked around and realized just how clinical his new apartment felt. There hadn’t been a lot of time to really craft it into his own. Empty walls, missing furniture, hell, he didn’t even have a bed. Not that she would be privy to that information any time soon.

 

He was not usually one for personal trinkets. Moving around so much as a kid, there was no reason to hang onto things for sentimentality when they would end up getting in the way. In all his time he had kept maybe one or two items close to his heart: the gray beanie on his head and the pins in it. His mother had knitted it for him before the collapse of his family unit. It was the one thing, the only thing, she had left him with. Well, other than a bruised ego and decades’ worth of trauma some might suggest a therapist help him weed through.

 

It was stupid, but he felt embarrassed to have Betty in a place like this. From just the glimpse he’d had of her apartment, it was about as perfect as she seemed to be. He remembered pastel throw pillows on well-worn couches that contrasted perfectly with the paintings hanging from her wall. Her home had personality. All his had was a stripper pole.

 

“What’s that?” Betty asked after she’d had a moment to look around (not that there was much to look at).

 

“A… necessary fixture, is what Veronica is calling it. It’s a stripper pole, installed during God knows when but apparently replaced a support beam that used to be there so I’m not getting rid of it anytime soon.”

 

“Is that your clever way of trying to convince me it’s not yours?”

 

Jughead smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee, offering her one too. “You’ve caught me, Cooper. I’m secretly a seedy, strip club owner with an affinity for Scotch who can play the drums and likes to pretend I’m Magic Mike. How’d you guess?”

 

“Oh, you’ve just got that kind of face.”

 

“What a bad face. Is it too early to crack into this?” He gestured to the pie sitting on the counter, sprayed with a delightful smiley face of whipped cream he could feel in his bones was probably homemade, just like the perfectly browned crust. The woman above him had to be some sort of culinary fairy, not a school teacher with a nifty hobby.

 

“Maybe, but I won’t judge you as long as I get a slice too.”

 

“Deal.”

 

They sat at his counter, scraping pie out of the tin until more than half of it was gone. Admittedly, he’d done most of the damage. How could he not when he’d been tempted with such a decadent treat? When his stomach started to ache, he finally threw in the towel and slid the remaining pieces into the fridge. It fit perfectly between his Monday Chinese leftovers and his tuesday Chinese leftovers, just below the half-empty pizza box.

 

“It’s… sort of empty in here.” It was sweet of her to be delicate, but there was no need. Jughead was fully aware he lived in a dump.

 

“I haven’t had the money to go out and properly buy furniture. Before this I was crashing on my best friend’s couch and praying that he didn’t decide to make me pay rent. I’ve been out of college for four months and it’s already a nightmare. Like, where am I going to find the money for the things I need when I barely have enough for food? And every time I cough I panic because who the hell can afford health insurance?”

 

“I’m lucky. I get a lot of support from the state being a teacher, but it’s not enough, you know? Not when I have to pay for all my own paper and my decorations and folders and beg the students’ parents to donate whatever and whenever they can. It’s not the glamorous life I dreamed of when I got my degree and was told to frolic into the world.”

 

Jughead allowed himself a moment to look at her. She couldn’t be much older than him, either that or she had an amazingly young face and he had to get the name of the moisturizer she used. Betty was undeniably pretty, undeniably beautiful, but he wondered if she was like him, a fresh-faced college graduate with a lot of fumbled touchdowns and confused glarings down at the newspaper.

 

“I graduated early,” she said as if answering the questions on the tip of his tongue. “A whole year. I was only 21 and I jumped right into teaching the second I could. I was so lost. At first I was working at the elementary school back home where I’d grown up, but it felt too suffocating, with my mother there nagging every chance she got about everything and anything. I hated it. So I packed everything I had in my car and I left for New York. It took me a few months to find a job, but I knew Veronica growing up so she offered me a place to stay here, rent free, until I could manage it on my own. And I do now, only took me three years. I met Archie at work taking the kids to their art and music classes. He tried to hit on me but Veronica picked me up one day and the rest is history. They fought over who was going to get me in their wedding party. It was very flattering.”

 

“How old are you?” Jughead winced at his own words. “Sorry, I think that’s rude.”

 

Betty laughed and shook her head. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m 24. And you’re 22, right? Since you graduated in May? Congrats by the way, I don’t think I asked what you majored in yet.”

 

“Ah, the dreaded question. I have a BA in English with a focus in creative writing. So as you can see, I’m just rolling in cash. And yes, I’m 22, soon to be 23 if I manage to make it to October without having the United States treasury coming down to harvest my organs to pay off my debts. How many kidneys do you need again?”

 

“I hear it’s just one. But you never know if that’s a dastardly plan concocted by the feds.”

 

His conspiracy theory senses tingled, but he tried to hold them close in front of polite company. “Don’t get me started.”

 

“I won’t, I won’t.” She laughed and finished off her coffee, putting the cup in the sink beside the others. “I was actually going to be a journalism major. My parents own a newspaper back home so it was just what was to be expected. I ended up taking a few teaching classes to pad my schedule and my GPA and fell in love, so I switched the second I could. I don’t regret it for a second. Even if it is hard sometimes.”

 

“That’s noble, following your love, even when you know not many people around you are too accepting of it. Trust me, I get it.”

 

“So what’s your endgame, if you don’t mind me asking? If you could live in a perfect world, what would you do with your degree?”

 

“I’d be a novelist. I’ve been working on something for awhile, but it’s a slow burn. Life is a bitter muse, Betty Cooper, and she is fleeting.”

 

She smiled. “Poetic. I think you’re talented already. But I’ve also had a thought. Maybe you need a bit of a change of pace to feel inspired again? You lived on a couch, that can’t be good for your creativity, and now you’re living in an apartment that’s yours because you pay rent in it, not because it actually looks like another human being lives here. So, what if we did a little thrift shopping?”

 

“You mean like Goodwill, the example of an ethical conundrum that pays its workers garbage and its CEO billions?”

 

“No, you debbie downer, I’m talking about locally owned. We could even stop by a few garage sales to ease your politically-minded heart. We search around for some treasures on the cheap to make your apartment feel like a home. A change of scenery, a confidence boost, a little magic to help you feel a little better and get those creative juices flowing. Whenever I had trouble in school with an essay, I’d rearrange a few things in my room and it always helped. Plus, I think you could benefit from a couch. And some chairs. Maybe a table?”

 

“Alright, I see your point. Problem is, I drive a motorcycle, so going on heavy shopping trips isn’t in my cards.”

 

Betty’s eyes lit up, a beautiful explosion of effervescent fireworks behind those pretty green orbs. She grabbed her keys from her purse and dangled them in front of his face. “Then allow me. We can go together so you have someone there to help. We can take my car.”

 

Jughead tried for a minute to imagine what kind of car the sweet school teacher might drive. There was a Fiat in the parking lot, with pink eyelashes and a collection of stuffed animals on the dashboard, but that felt too kitschy for her. Maybe the Honda Civic that always parked perfectly between the lines in the back few spaces. Curiosity alone propelled him to say yes.

 

The sweet way she hugged him and the thought of spending the entire day with her weren’t bad incentives either.

 

What he had not expected to see was a tiffany blue ‘55 Chevy Nomad, restored painstakingly back to it’s original glory, detailed to perfection, and sparkling like it was brand new. Betty Cooper was an ever-evolving mystery he could quickly become addicted to. He wanted, or maybe craved, to know more and more and more, never satisfied with just scraping the surface. Jughead wasn’t someone who knew a lot about cars—his forte was bikes—but he knew enough to be impressed and a little amazed.

 

“Where did you get this?”

 

“I sold my last loaf of bread to a kind wizard who gifted it to me as thanks.” When he rolled his eyes, she laughed. “No, I restored it with my dad. It was something we used to do all the time growing up. So when I was 18, as a graduation present, he bought this for me. We spent the entire summer fixing it up. I drove in the coolest person in the entire school. I still do. Kids and their parents all love taking pictures with my car.”

 

“I’ll be honest, I’m a little afraid to touch it. What if I break something?”

 

“You won’t, trust me. I’ve done everything to make it sturdy. There’s not a lot of room in the trunk, but it’s enough to grab some chairs and maybe a table that we can break down. Some garage sale people will deliver. But I think maybe we hit my favorite little shop first? Their customer service is amazing and I know the owner, Ethel. She’s a sweetheart.”

 

It was strange to be doing something like this again. For his entire life, Jughead had been poor beyond measure. There were fleeting moments of being part of the mediocre middle class, but even with scholarships paying most of his way through college, he was relegated to a life of boxed mac and cheese and ramen. (One of these days he was going to get his cholesterol checked and find out his blood was marinara sauce.) Back when things were better, his dad used to take him and his sister out to thrift stores like Betty mentioned, away from the chaos that was always in their home. It would be one of the few times they’d see him sober. Hungover, but sober.

 

His favorite thing was always the rotting cardboard boxes in the back, filled to bursting with old novels for ten cents each and VHS movies no one could use anymore. He’d spend an hour rifling through the until he had a pile big enough to fill his little arms. Even in desperate times, handing over a dollar to make his son happy was something FP Jones had been willing to do. It was a sweet gesture, one of the few Jughead would have to think back on in regards to his alcoholic father.

 

He pulled away from his memories, trying to focus on the here and now, inside of Betty’s car, which smelled like lavender and fresh leather—an intoxicating combination he thought could not be more her if it tried. It was like he had jumped into a scene in one of his favorite cinema classics, and he never wanted to leave. As they drove through the twisty streets, Betty pointed out landmarks he had never noticed before. There wasn’t much of an opportunity to take in the scenery when he was working long, early mornings and then spending his nights fighting with the fickle fairy of inspiration (and a giant dog who never wanted to listen).

 

It was a concrete jungle of wonder. Every stray soda pop can, every crooked mailbox peaked his curiosity. There were large graffiti marks that reminded him of days where he’d wandered with Sweet Pea’s gang, never officially a member, but part of the fringe who was looked after and treated like family. To prove his loyalty, he had once tagged the school with a giant snake, only to be caught and thoroughly reprimanded by his principal. It was curious how much this place reminded him of home and made him feel terribly lonely all at once.

 

Jughead looked to Betty, smiling when he saw the way she radiated warmth and excitement. Maybe that was why she drove a car like this—to feel free. He certainly felt that way with the windows rolled down and the fresh city air slapping his skin. It electrified his veins and left him with a fire in his soul that hadn’t been there since graduation. Well, maybe she did know what she was talking about after all.

 

They reached the little shop quicker than he would have liked. A pink and white neon sign hung above the metal bars in the window pain reading, “Ethel Refurbished.” Not the catchiest name around, but the bright colors were enough to distract anyone and pull them toward a room full of oddities and wonders. Humans liked two things: sex and shiny things. Jughead had a long-standing theory that people were really just over evolved magpies with opposable thumbs so they could carry more things when they stole it.

 

“So what kind of place is this?”

 

The little bell jingled over head and the woman behind the counter looked up from behind spectacles. She was a little round, a little cute, and a lot glaring at him, which was not an uncommon look from people. Jughead was well aware he looked like a hoodlum. Going into places like Target was practically a nightmare unless he was looking to fuck with the retail employees profiling him.

 

“It’s a little bit of everything, you know? People drop off clothes here, but Ethel also makes her own sometimes. The draw of this place, though, is the furniture. Her husband, Dilton, is insanely talented with a buzz saw and some stain, so he redoes furniture and sells it on the cheap. They run the business together.” Betty leaned in close. “Between you and me, I also think Dilton is really good at locking people in his basement too, but I’ve never said anything because I like Ethel. Her husband just creeps me out. He’s probably one of those bomb shelter, doomsday prep kind of guys, and not in the good way.”

 

Jughead smiled. “Is there a ‘good way’ of that?”

 

“Betty!” Ethel gave her a sweet smile. “You’re back. We just got finished with that table you wanted me to keep on hold for you, the blue stain one? It’s in the back if you want me to grab it.”

 

“Oh, did you? That’s great. Could you bring it out front for me? I’m showing my friend Jughead around since he needs some furniture. He just moved into the apartment complex a floor below me.”

 

It wasn’t like Jughead to blush at the slightest mention of friendship, but he couldn’t keep the warmth from spreading to the tips of his toes right to the red rose of his cheeks. Betty was doing unthinkable things to him and he needed to see a doctor immediately. This had to be the flu. Or maybe he’d choked on some ramen last night, died, and his version of heaven was being tormented by a beautiful woman while trying to sort through the myriad of complex feelings bothering him, only to realize she was far above his league and the worrying was for nothing. (He had expected there to be a little more fire in hell, but maybe Lucifer was getting hit by the depletion of fossil fuels too.)

 

But maybe there was something deeper seeded in all of this other than just a pretty girl. It didn’t take a lot of self awareness for him to know he was awkward, relationship incompetent, and generally unpleasant to be around. At the end of most conversations Jughead had, the poor person on the receiving end of his comments looked like they had just finished drinking an entire bottle of apple cider vinegar after a quick google search on the health benefits—sick to their stomach and vaguely insulted, but unable to deny the reality. He didn’t mind leaving people this way. It was just surprising when someone could drudge through enough of his bullshittery to enjoy the person he liked to pretend he wasn’t.

 

“Of course. Feel free to look around. Most of our bigger stuff is out back if you want to check it out.” Pointedly, Ethel turned around a sign that said ‘you break it, you buy it,’ staring him down until he felt strangely intimidated and turned to follow Betty out.

 

“So, what do you think is the most important thing to get for yourself today? We’ll start small. Even here furniture is still not cheap.”

 

Jughead thought for a second before remembering the pile of clothes on the floor, currently covered in dog hair because Hot Dog loved to use anything that wasn’t his bed as a bed, including fresh-out-of-the-laundry work clothes. But he was poor, and ultimately very lazy, and hung up only what he could fit inside his shoebox closet. This left a seemingly endless supply of white tank tops and dark wash jeans with no place to go. And the underwear, which he was losing rapidly thanks to the dog’s endless resolve to torment him.

 

Maybe this was hell after all.

 

“A dresser. Especially if Hot Dog is going to be sticking around.”

 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” Betty’s eyes wandered and she plucked out a checkered yellow dress he, for some ungodly reason, thought would look really pretty with her eyes. “Do you want to keep him? He’s only $50, shots and neutering included.”

 

“The very idea of neutering a dog makes me uncomfortable. I certainly wouldn’t want my balls chopped off if I wasn’t in a position to argue against it. It’s like… just because my mouth is taped shut doesn’t mean I’m consenting to a castration.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure it’s the same thing, but I see your point. Who knew you were such an animal rights activist?”

 

“I am an all rights activist. I activist for all. I should have been born in France because I love good food, wine, and protesting as loudly as possible against the bourgeois with only a vague reason as to why I’m angry in the first place, other than a general distrust and distaste for capitalism.” When he got her to laugh, Jughead smiled. “But in regards to the dog, yeah, I’ll think on it. Can you give me another week with him? It’s a lot of responsibility for someone who just recently started doing his own laundry without a roommate to tell him he smells like dorito sweat.”

 

“Was that a common problem for you?”

 

It was not unusual for Jughead to completely make an ass of himself, Sweet Pea might even call it a personality trait, but never before had he felt so idiotic as he did in front of Betty’s judgemental eyes. This was a woman who had not only graduated early, but figured out her life much quicker than he had. She held down a stable job—helping kids like some saint!—and even had enough time to foster dogs. The world didn’t allow people this good to be in it. Yeah, this had to be hell.

 

“Maybe.” He tried not the flush in embarrassment. “But it’s not anymore. At all. Seriously. I smell fine now.”

 

Betty giggled and gently touched his shoulder. “Trust me, I know you do.”

 

With that vague and startling declaration, she was pulling him toward the furniture section. There was a dresser for sale. It was bright yellow, but it was a dresser and it was cheap enough that he didn’t mind the fact that its very existence contradicted his general demeanor. His house was going to be a designer’s worst nightmare, a clusterfuck of cheap objects jammed into one tiny shoebox.

 

There was also a dining room table, a little more expensive, but given his current predicament—Hot Dog—eating on the floor was becoming a harder and harder feat to accomplish if he actually wanted any of the food to end up in his mouth. And Jughead loved food, so sharing wasn’t ideal. He’d once punched a fry out of Sweet Pea’s mouth because he’s stolen it from him, and then went about finishing the bite. (A psychologist would have a field day with his deeply disturbed inner workings, but who had time for mental healthcare in this economy?)

 

Betty looked at one of the chairs he’d pointed out and frowned. “There’s a chip in the wood. I bet we could talk her into getting it discounted.”

 

“Ah, a fellow haggler. I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

 

“My mother refuses to pay full price for anything. She’s an avid couponer, a trait that was instilled in me since my time in the womb. I bet she used to open up the Sunday coupons and clip them while she was pregnant with me, reading the sales like some strange version of baby Mozart.”

 

Unable to hold it in, Jughead laughed, clutching onto the shaky banister for support. “Interesting story. One I weirdly believe. I’m not sure if my mom did anything like that with me. I think my dad used to read the back of beer cans, if that counts.”

 

He watched her eyes flicker into something resembling pity and frowned. That was not something he wanted, nor was particularly used to. His demons were his alone. They never belonged to anyone else. 

 

“Don’t think too much on that. If you can get me a deal on this table I’ll buy lunch,” he said, trying to change the subject.

 

“Deal.” She offered him a little smile, but something told him she wasn’t going to let go of what he’d said.

 

When they left the store, Jughead was the proud owner of not only a dining room table, but two chairs and a dresser. Betty had purchased her own table and Ethel promised she would have them brought to the apartment complex no later than tomorrow evening. One more day without a flat surface to eat on wasn’t going to kill him, especially after the fun he’d had today.

 

“So, what’s good around here?” he asked, slamming the trunk of her car closed after placing her bag of new clothes in the back.

 

“There’s a pizza place on 3rd that is actually to die for. Or murder. Whichever is your prerogative.”

 

“I get a choice? How kind. I’m always up for pizza. Even the Pizza Hovel if it’s the only thing around.”

 

“After trying this you will never order anything else again, I promise you that.”

 

Jughead smiled. “A bold promise to make. I expect to be wowed.”

 

He was. The ratio of cheese to sauce to crust to toppings was so perfect his mouth watered just thinking about it. Each slice felt like a tiny piece of sausage-covered Nirvana. (This was definitely not hell. No way the devil could cook up pizza this good, even if he baked it in a brimstone oven.) He could die a happy man with this slice of pizza in his hands. It certainly didn’t hurt there was a pretty girl sitting across from him.

 

It helped that it was cheap, especially for its large portions. He ordered a whole pizza to himself—much to Betty’s amazement—and devoured it like he hadn’t been fed properly in weeks. (He hadn’t.)

 

“How can you eat that?” she asked, pointing to his pizza. “With the fruit on it?”

 

“Oh my god. You’re one of those people. The snobs who think they’ve got better pallets because they don’t eat pineapple on pizza. Live and let pizza!”

 

“But it’s fruit! It’s warmed up fruit!”

 

“You make  _ pies _ , Betty, I’m not sure you’re allowed to judge people for that. That’s essentially warmed fruit soup in a cookie half sphere. It’s all still delicious.”

 

She closed her mouth and thought. “Alright. I surrender. You win.”

 

“I have won the battle, but I fear our war may not be over.”

 

When she smiled across the table at him, he felt his heart stop and a strange twist in his stomach, like a knife. Or those proverbial butterflies again. Really, he’d prefer a knife. It would be cleaner and he might be able to stop the bleeding easier than  _ whatever _ these abstract feelings were. (Affection? Disgust? Gas? He wasn’t sure.)

 

Before she could retort, his phone started to ring. Of course it was Sweet Pea, the man with horrible timing and a perfect ability to make everything awkward for everyone. He hung up without a second thought.

 

Betty blinked, eyes wide with curiosity. “Who was that?”

 

“My friend Sweet Pea. His is the couch I was crashing on before I got the apartment.”

 

“Oh, that’s sweet. Was he a college friend of yours?”

 

“No. I didn’t have many of those. I was in the foster care system for a little while and I ended up in his family. They’re good people. Confusing people who really like to name their kids after flowers, but good.”

 

“His name is legally Sweet Pea?”

 

“I mean… he’s never told me differently, but I also don’t actually know how tall he is either, because he keeps saying if he ever has to go into hiding, I can’t know details that could help the police in a nationwide manhunt.” She stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like she didn’t want to believe him. “I’m not kidding.”

 

“Interesting friend. I won’t ask too many more questions. Okay I can’t help myself, just one more, I promise. Did you guys become so close because of your names?”

 

Jughead groaned. “I knew this would come up. Everyone asks. No, my legal name is not Jughead, but also, no, I won’t tell you what it is. Because it’s terrible.”

 

“Worse than Jughead?”

 

He glared. “Careful. Your wit and charm can only get you out of so much. I will tell you, without anything else, so seriously don’t ask, that I am The Third in a long history of a very bad, very unfortunate name.”

 

“Come on, now you have to tell me!”

 

They teased each other for a long time, until his stomach was stretched full and Betty was on her fourth free refill. The sun had started to set. Apparently, time really did fly by when you were having fun. Fun. Now that wasn’t a thing he’d had since college graduation, when he’d spent half the night cross faded and the other half shredding his course documents.

 

After their pizza date—he was going to have to think of something else to call it when Sweet Pea asked why he didn’t pick up his phone call or he’d never hear the end of it—they rode back to the apartment complex together. Betty continued to indulge all his neighborhood questions with a sweetness he was pretty sure she could package and sell for millions. Retail workers would be clamoring to buy it by the gallon.

 

The complex was quiet when they got back, which meant Kevin was either filming or currently not in the building, and Archie had retired his guitar for the night at Veronica’s request. He lingered in the hallway for a moment, wondering if he should walk her up to her door, but before he could make a decision—those were terrifyingly difficult when it came to Betty—she had stopped outside his door and pointed at it. 

 

“Your stop, milady. Thank you for carrying my bags.” She smiled and she took them from him. “And thank you for coming out with me today. It was nice to get out of the house after the chaos of this weekend.”

 

He nodded. They hadn’t been friends very long—was that what they were? This adult relationships thing was confusing him—so Jughead tried not to pry, but curiosity was a hard demon to fight alone. “I hope everything worked out okay at home. I won’t ask but… I’m here if you want to talk.”

 

He felt like an idiot. He was sure Betty had a lot of people she could turn to for emotional support. Hell, she was best friends with the landlord, so why would she come down to his home to talk about her worries and problems? To his surprise, she smiled.

 

“I appreciate that. Just family drama. My sister isn’t… doing well. So I’ve been going back home to visit a lot to check up on her and her twins and our mom.”

 

“I get it. Family is hard.”

 

“You can say that again.”

 

Jughead smiled. “Family is hard.”

 

Betty bumped his hip with a grin. “Dork. I’m glad we could find some things for your place. Oh! I forgot to ask, are you coming to the Welcome to the Neighborhood Potluck? You’re the guest of honor, but I’d understand if it wasn’t something you were too interested in. It’s mostly just people from the building. Like Kevin, Moose, Cheryl, those people. It’ll be fun. You don’t have to bring anything and it’s a good time.”

 

A potluck sounded like a nightmare to him. They were nothing but chatty people and potato salad, which is obviously the worst kind of salad, even compared to the green ones. But when Betty looked at him with bright eyes and a sweet smile, he choked on his own refusal and sputtered out, “Yeah sure. I never miss free food.”

 

“Perfect!” She pulled him in for a quick hug and left a pink kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Jughead! Sleep well, and let me know about Hot Dog soon so I can contact the shelter for you!”

 

She left in a whirl, leaving him standing outside his own door dumbfounded. Hot Dog’s barking was the only thing to break him from his trance, and he stumbled back inside with Betty’s leftover pizza she had gifted him. Inside, he face planted into the sheets, screaming at his own stupidity and wondering what sort of demonic deal it would take for his head to stop being so confused and his heart to stop fluttering. Maybe he was dying. He would embrace it happily at this point.

 

A sudden pressure on his head made Jughead sit up, only to see the dog’s white, fluffy butt slide to the pillow. He barked once and licked Jughead’s face. 

 

“Thanks for the assist, pal, but I think I have to stick around a little longer. Out of morbid curiosity if nothing else. What stupid thing can I do next?”

 

The next morning, over an entire pot of coffee, he texted Betty and asks exactly what it would entail to become the legal owner of a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @tory-b where I answer questions about my fics, scream about Bughead, and occasionally make a pseudo-intellectual meta commentary to trick you all into thinking I'm smart.


	3. The Saturday Potluck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin smiled, raising an eyebrow. “If you don’t know how to make a stripper pole livable, Jughead, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re clearly not thinking outside the box. I’m sure Betty could show you a thing or two.”
> 
> He choked on his juice, sputtering as he fumbled with the plastic cup to keep it from spilling all over the nice, hardwood flooring. “I don’t--. I didn’t--. Where did--?”
> 
> “God, if I could just frame the look on your face right now, I would make millions. I was just guessing, but honestly who wouldn’t have a crush on our sweet Betty.”
> 
> “I do not have a crush on Betty! I think she’s a nice… friend.”
> 
> -or-
> 
> Lodge Luxury Living Apartments has their Saturday Potluck and Jughead is the guest of honor. But it's not just the promise of tiny (and free) food that's drawing him to an otherwise gag worthy social situation, but the hope that he might get to spend a little more time with his upstairs neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I just want to take a moment and say I'm utterly floored by the response on this fic already. Every time I get a comment (i'm trying to reply to them all I promise!) or a kudos I just feel that deep warm and fuzziness in my heart and just oh gosh I really can't thank you all enough for reading something that is above all else just a big cathartic release of my graduation anxieties. (I graduate from college in 2 months. TWO MONTHS!)
> 
> A fair warning to you all, messages I sent to both my betas in this chapter include. "Please knock me off my political soapbox, I got wordy." 
> 
> Speaking of both my betas @indiebughead and @bettscoopr who continue to humor me as well as remind me to chill the fuck out Tori. They are both incredibly busy with not only their own fics, but life as a general, so the fact they take time out of their lives to help me is just mwah just kisses kisses kisses I love both of you ladies.
> 
> No Riverdale episode this week so I do hope this helps tide you over at least a little <3
> 
> (Fun fact about me: I apparently live inside of Lodge's Luxury Apartments because the cap to my ceiling light came off last night and just smacked me right in the leg.)

Parties are not his thing. In fact, during his entire four years in college, Jughead had ventured out of his apartment long enough for two parties. One of which ended with a brief night in jail for public intoxication, and the other resulted in him having to burn his shoes because not one but two drunken sorority girls threw up on them in quick succession. Aside from a few horror stories, he also just hated people, especially when they were crowded into tight spaces and sweating. So yeah, parties of any kind were not really his thing.

 

But then again, this was an adult party, what might more appropriately be called something stupid like a “shindig” or “friendly gathering” by pretentious fucks. This was also a potluck—the epitome of adult get togethers, where people brought heaps of bland, mayo-based potato salad and everyone scrambled to sign up to bring the cups. Lucky for him, being the guest of honor, all he had to bring was himself. Surely, this would be a massive disappointment—the same way any sort of potato salad was, and with about as much nutritional value—but it worked out better for him.

 

The potluck started in 15 minutes and Jughead was still sitting on his bed, curled up under his feather-light blanket, trying to remember why it was he was venturing so far outside of his comfort zone on one of his few days off. He normally spent these days like a gremlin, hidden in the dark while he typed away at his manifesto. But it had been Betty who asked. Betty, who he was quickly and shockingly becoming good friends with. Betty, who he thought had a pretty smile, a pretty face, and, well, a pretty everything. Betty, who confused the ever loving fuck out of him in every way shape and form. He’d say he hated Betty, but even Hot Dog knew that was a lie.

 

“Do I have to go?”

 

The sheepdog looked up from his mountain of pillows like a king disgruntled to hear his concubine’s voice after a good round of belly rubs. He barked once.

 

“But I don’t want to.”

 

Another bark, followed by a long glassy eyed stare.

 

“I don’t like people. Or parties. I only like free food and you know potlucks have the worst food in the world, so it’s not even worth going, right? No one knows me. No one will care I’m not there.”

 

Hot Dog rolled away from him.

 

“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll go. I’ll get off my ass and get dressed.” He stumbled to his feet, looking down at the mess around his bed. 

 

There were Chinese food take out boxes so old he couldn’t properly date them and a few mugs that were crusted with old coffee. Maybe it was a good thing he was getting out of the apartment, even for the bare minimum hour he told himself was the decent amount of time to spend at a party supposedly being thrown in his honor. He was going so stir crazy, he’d started holding full length conversations with a dog, and one that didn’t even care.

 

He spent way too long in his dresser, digging through clothes he hadn’t properly folded and trying to find something presentable. The email mentioned they could be casual, but how casual was a casual adult potluck? Was anything adult really that casual? Was he expected to wear a suit and a tie, or maybe some worn out loafers instead? These were the things college had not prepared him for in the slightest and now he was floundering. Granted, there were no advanced level classes on talking to people—at least not for him, someone who had no interest in being a communication major, not that he could judge since he’d gotten into  _ English _ of all things (that was serving him well).

 

In a moment of desperation, he pulled out his phone and called one of the few numbers from the complex he had. Archie Andrews picked up in three rings.

 

“Yellow?”

 

“You would answer the phone like that. It’s Jughead and I have no idea what to wear to this potluck thing.”

 

“I’m wearing board shorts, so it’s pretty casual and loose. We don’t have a set dress code or anything. Sometimes Midge just wears a unicorn onesie if she’s too tired to change out of it. Ronnie thinks they’re tacky. My shorts, not the onesie. But I bet she thinks those are tacky, too. I kind of like the way khakis and cardigans look though. Kevin says it’s very boy scout chic, whatever the heck that means.”

 

Jughead snorted. Archie was perplexing— so perfectly comfortable in his masculinity that he’d begun taking fashion advice from their resident Youtube star. “I have no idea and I’m not sure if I want to know how Kevin’s mind works. So, if I show up in suspenders and jeans and flannel that’s fine?”

 

“Yeah, dude, absolutely. Not even Ronnie gets dressed up for these things. It’s just a neighborhood potluck. Besides, we’ve all sort of already identified your lumberjack aesthetic.”

 

“Excuse me? Lumberjack? On what planet is a lumberjack looking like I look?”

 

“This one. Take a good long look in the mirror, Jug, and tell me you don’t kind of look like an angsty lumberjack. Kevin brought it up to Moose and I the other day, and man we both agreed.”

 

“I’ve seriously never been more offended in my life,” he groaned, tossing his flannel aside and pulling out one of his nicer sweaters instead. Those made him feel like an adult. Adults wore sweaters, probably. “I hope you both choke at dinner tonight.”

 

There was a mumbling on the other side of the phone, Veronica’s shrill voice of scolding cracking through the phone, competing with the shoddy reception in the complex. He couldn’t get good service anywhere, even when he was trying to call someone a few floors up. He heard Archie agree to something, disagree to something, and then promptly change his mind to agreeing. It sounded like it was about cakes. Jughead hoped they were tiny.

 

Growing up, his vision of being a functioning member of society had involved a surprising amount of tiny foods. Maybe it was all the television shows featuring fancy rich white high society folks having tea parties and eating half sandwiches. Logically, if they were in halves, you could eat more of them and be judged less. It was a Jughead ideal. Being poor most of his life meant difficulty with most things. In reality, he’d been living as an adult—self sufficient, paying bills, living off his wits and two pennies rubbed together—since he was in his early teens. Most of the foster parents back home didn’t care one way or the other about the people they took in, more interested with the state funds they were getting instead. He knew that wasn’t how it was with everyone. There had to be people out there who loved fostering kids. He just happened to have had the displeasure of never meeting one of them. It was his signature Jones luck at play.

 

“Sorry, man,” Archie’s voice broke through his musings. “People are starting to show up so I have to go play good host before Veronica skins me. You’ll be up in a few, right?”

 

“Yeah. Give me like five minutes and I’ll be up. Maybe ten.”

 

“Awesome, see you soon.”

 

The line went dead and Jughead was left feeling strangely at ease. Maybe he was getting a better grasp on being a functioning member of society than he thought. He worked—a job he hated but a job that paid his bills—and now here he was venturing outside his apartment for some social interaction. Sweet Pea would have a heart attack if he knew. And, he owned a dresser.

 

Most of it was Betty’s doing. He wasn’t sure how willing he would have been to make all those bold advancements without her whispering in his ear, encouraging him with that sweet smile and excited swing in her step. Friends were few and far between for him. Most people—with good reason—thought he was unnecessarily harsh, quick to criticize, and a bit of an asshole. They were all  _ right,  _ but sometimes it stung to feel that loneliness, even when he was introverted by nature. Surprising even himself, Jughead felt sort of excited walking out the door.

 

He felt a lot less excited after the four flights of stairs. Veronica really needed to fix that elevator if she wanted to have her tenants actually join her upstairs. It was confusing most days, how exactly one could possibly describe a woman like her. She gave off an air of wealth, certainly not someone who should be living with their music teacher husband in a shitty flat in the slums, rubbing elbows with the lower class over plastic champagne flutes. But she never seemed above it all. When she opened the door to greet him, her smile seemed genuine. The hug was unnecessary, but he gave her back a pat as thank you anyway.

 

“I’m glad you could make it. Betty told me you were thinking about dipping out on us earlier this week.” She was teasing, but he felt an underlying threat in her tone that left him shaking a bit in his boots. “Glad you could make it. The food’s laid out on the table already. Midge brought her pineapple upside cake and you  _ must _ try it. It’s to die for.”

 

“I’ll eat pretty much anything you put in front of me.”

 

“Careful with that,” Archie smiled. “Veronica will try and get you to taste her fruitcake. It’s like eating bricks.”

 

Veronica’s eyes narrowed and she smacked her husband on the arm. “Archibald! Don’t listen to him. I’m perfectly competent in the kitchen as long as someone is there with me making sure I stay focused.”

 

Fruitcake. Of course. Adults ate fruit cake—that miserable, horrible excuse for both fruit and cake. Leave it to the post-grad populous to think that freeze dried fruit belonged in dense, inedible cake. Or was this exclusively a marriage phenomenon? To be fair, the few people he’d ever interacted with that liked fruit cake were over the age of thirty and in long-term, committed marriages. He wondered how old Veronica and Archie were. They didn’t look much older than he was. Then again, everyone renting out a space in Lodge’s Luxury Apartments looked as good as a middle aged celebrity after botox: effortlessly timeless in an almost eerie way, like they’d popped off the pages of a 60s comic book and started living their daily lives.

 

No one here could be much older than him. They were all hip with the lingo—at least the lingo he knew, which frankly wasn’t much—and were a far cry more functional on social media than he was. (What was the point of Twitter? Who could say all they wanted to say in 150 characters? He could barely get the thesis statement of his final paper to be under three lines long.  _ Edit, Jughead, you have to edit!  _ It was like the ghost of his Race, Gender, and Sexuality professor was still haunting him to this day.)

 

The oldest person he had come across in the complex was Smithers, who sat patiently at the front desk day in and day out with an alarmingly cheerful smile plastered on his face, filled to the brim with facts about the building that never sat particularly well on an empty stomach. Jughead could still remember with terrifying vividness when Smithers had gone and explained the time someone’s ex-girlfriend had tried to hatch their door open with her stiletto just three months ago. Neither the tenant nor the woman were allowed back, but suddenly the huge dent in the door three down made a lot more sense. This place, like the people who lived in it, was weird. Weird was good. Weird made him fit in. But sometimes it got strange enough that if he wrote it down and submitted it to a soap opera even they would send it back as being too irrationally dramatic. Just last week he’d overheard Moose and Reggie, a diagonal neighbor who looked like he was better suited for used-car-dealership fame than a rundown shithole in the middle of NYC, breaking vases off the roof to test the theory of gravity to “prove the old guy wrong.” Sir Isaac Newton was rolling over in his grave.

 

“Jughead! I’m surprised you showed up. You’re a bit antisocial.”

 

“Oh, look. It’s Kevin.”

 

His neighbor pulled him in for a quick hug. Apparently that was something everyone here did: hugging. Veronica had floated away, dragging Archie off somewhere, likely to give him a scolding for embarrassing her in front of the tenants. Or to make out. He’d stumbled onto those compromising situations more than a few times. None of them were pretty and the fact that he could tell you that his new friend had a mole on his left ass cheek was something it would take bleach and a long night of scrubbing to get out of his head.

 

“You sound so excited. I got the package you sent me, by the way. Very interesting. You should come on the show one day and we can have a debate about it.” When Jughead floundered, opening his mouth and then shutting it abruptly to keep from incriminating himself, Kevin laughed. “Please. The walls are thin, Jones, and I heard you muttering to yourself about it. I opened the package on a livestream the other day. Your secret’s safe, but just keep that in mind.”

 

“I certainly… will at least pretend that I’m thinking about that.”

 

“That’s the spirit! Now tell me, how are you liking things so far here? I know this place and everyone in it can be a lot to take it some days. I’m surprised we don’t have more noise complaints from the other complexes around here.”

 

Jughead shrugged, fumbling to pour himself a drink from the table beside him. Leave it to Jughead Jones to find the food table as quick as possible and latch himself onto it in a desperate attempt to not look as socially awkward as he felt.

 

Veronica floated in again, her husband hot on her heels. She made small talk with everyone she passed, touching their arms, offering them smiles, like some pageant queen vying for the crown, or at the very least a sash saying Miss Congeniality. What struck him hardest was how little she fit in among her ragtag tenants. She was graceful, walking in heels that clacked against the floor and elevated her small frame. She had the class of someone who’d been raised in money. Judging by the pearls hanging from her neck—he’d never seen her without them—she probably was.

 

Archie had said that his wife didn't dress up for these things. Maybe it was in her thoroughbred nature to be a hostess, dressed in something that could perhaps be called casual if you lived in the White House or with the Queen of England. At least as far as he knew, pumps like that were not casual attire.

 

Obviously surprised, Kevin asked, “You’ve never heard of Veronica Lodge, have you?” 

 

“Not once in my whole life.”

 

“You don’t read the magazines enough then. I’ll tell the tale the best I can. So, Veronica Lodge comes from the Lodge family, i.e. Lodge Industries, tycoons who supposedly have ties to the underground mafia families of Canada and New York, or so the rumor goes. But something happened between her and her parents, no one knows what even though I would do anything to have the answer, that led to a huge falling out. Not but a year later Hiram Lodge is in jail for various crimes. Money Laundering. Tax Fraud. All that. I suspect it has something to do with our fabulous landlord here, but she’s very mum all about it. The apartments were one of the last thing her parents gave her. Told her to make a slum out of it but she tries her best to make it actually livable.”

 

“Even with a few extras added?”

 

Kevin smiled, raising an eyebrow. “If you don’t know how to make a stripper pole livable, Jughead, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re clearly not thinking outside the box. I’m sure Betty could show you a thing or two.”

 

He choked on his juice, sputtering as he fumbled with the plastic cup to keep it from spilling all over the nice, hardwood flooring. “I don’t--. I didn’t--. Where did--?”

 

“God, if I could just frame the look on your face right now, I would make millions. I was just guessing, but honestly who wouldn’t have a crush on our sweet Betty.”

 

“I do not have a crush on Betty! I think she’s a nice… friend.”

 

“Mhm. I smell a guilty man’s denial, but I’ll let you think on that. I promised Moose I’d double with him in beer pong with Reggie out on the patio, and a man must do what a man must do for his man. Catch you later.”

 

He left Jughead feeling perplexed, not an entirely unusual feeling whenever he crossed paths with Kevin. The man had a way of carrying himself and interacting with others that was purposefully vague on the best days and terrifyingly cryptic on the worst. Whatever was going on with him, Moose, and Midge was absolutely none of Jughead's business, and yet he was drawn in by the drama of it all to an almost infuriating degree.

 

While the party continued on, Jughead tucked himself into the corner of the room and watched as various groups of people morphed and divided. Everyone was familiar enough with each other to make the conversation flow easily. Nothing felt crowded, and yet he could feel the discomfort setting in. If it weren’t for the potluck buffet by his side, he likely would be halfway back to his apartment with a tupperware container full of goodies as victory. The buffet, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see Betty. She had told him she would be here tonight, and he watched the door eagerly for her arrival.

 

It happened later than he thought it would for someone as perfectly punctual as her. Half past the hour the doorbell rang. Veronica squealed and rushed to the door, pulling it open and throwing her arms around the taller blonde girl, giving each of her cheeks a kiss before ushering her inside. Jughead couldn’t make out what they were saying from his position, but he knew Betty looked apologetic, pulling out a wrapped bottle of something, probably wine judging by the packaging (that, and the fact that if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that adults loved giving each other gifts of alcohol for any occasion). There was also a tall, crystal vase of flowers arranged in a myriad of rich reds and delicate purples. Veronica seemed pleased by the offering and waved her hand.

 

With one last apologetic nod, Betty turned toward the crowd. A few of her friends waved or tried to make small talk with her, but she was scanning the crow for something else. Or someone. When she spotted him by the food, she beamed and made a beeline toward his all-but-cowering form. Did he look like an idiot hidden behind the small pastries and finger sandwiches? Probably. Definitely. Absolutely. But she didn’t seem to mind. 

 

He wasn’t sure why he cared.

 

“Jug, hi. I know I’ve said it before, but welcome to the neighborhood again. I like your sweater, by the way. It’s a pretty color.”

 

And then, for the first time in recallable memory, Jughead Jones blushed. He felt his cheeks heat and tried to push down whatever intrusive thoughts had lead to this horrible moment in history. “Thanks. It’s old, but like everything I own is.”

 

Could he just fucking stop talking for once in his life? What was wrong with him today?

 

“Nothing wrong with a little vintage! How are you liking this? I know Veronica’s parties can be kind of… a lot sometimes. But this is really quiet compared to how things usually are. Probably because it’s the middle of the day so Archie and Reggie aren’t hammered.”

 

He snorted, tugging at the a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater. “Do they do that a lot?”

 

“Nearly every weekend.”

 

Good to know that boys didn’t change too much after college. There were still some aspects of adult life that were familiar to him from his dorm days that he could cling to, like beer pong on old tables with haphazardly cut up volleyball nets and stupid guys making stupid choices thanks to alcohol. It was a strange comfort during a tumultuous and anxiety-inducing time. Leave it to alcohol to be the one constant in his life. Since the beginning until the end. Maybe he would die in some freak flask accident.

 

“Sounds dangerous.”

 

“Oh they’re mostly harmless.” Betty smiled. “Except for one time. Moose and Archie convinced Reggie that this girl, Josie, she plays at one of the bars with Archie some days, but she’s in a band, they’re really good by the way. Sorry, right. I’m blabbering, I’m sorry. So they convince Reggie that Josie totally had a thing for him, which she absolutely did not. Or maybe she did and was fully aware that Reg is kind of a meathead. Either way, they told him to ask her out and he did. Publically. Shirtless. Sitting on the bar. I’m not even sure why we’re still allowed at that place other than the fact that Archie makes them good money when he plays. And Josie rightfully turned him down and then we all spent the rest of the night consoling Reggie’s bruised ego until he found some girl willing to take pity on him.”

 

“Eventful. Is that how most nights end here?”

 

“With Reggie getting laid? Only in his dreams.”

 

Jughead laughed. Watching her eyes light up with delight was something exquisite that he couldn’t quite put into words. Or maybe he could, later, when he was alone with just a cup of black coffee and his laptop to keep him company. For the first time in a very long time, inspiration tingled at the edge of his vision, like a spark off in the distance he was compelled to chase. Whatever it was Betty did to him, it was good for his creativity.

 

“So how has Hot Dog been? I know you’re getting attached and I like to check up every now and again. He’s a good dog, just a bit excitable.”

 

Her question throws him back to a few nights ago, when a walk had ended with Hot Dog attempting to mount and mate with a fire hydrant, much to Jughead’s mortification. In retrospect, it was hilarious. In that moment, beside the old woman who looked about as horrified as he felt, it had not been.

 

“He is… virile. But we get along well. It’s nice to have some company. I didn’t realize how weird it would be to live alone. Living in a dorm room only has the illusion of privacy, and then I was sleeping on the couch of an old friend’s apartment surrounded by his dogs. This is a good way to transition from that.”

 

“Oh, I’m so glad!” She seemed genuine in her joy. It was startling how truly  _ good _ Betty Cooper was. The world didn’t make good people, not as often as it should, at least. “How’s the furniture? Good I hope? Ethel called me the other day to make sure everything we bought was still holding up well.”

 

Jughead nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Better than fine. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be able to pull clothes out of something made for clothes other than just one big pile in the bedroom that is some strange mix of laundry and indiscernible ‘others’ that I haven’t bothered to put away. I appreciate all your help lately, Betty. If there’s ever anything I can do to properly say thank you…”

 

“Oh please,” Betty waved him off. “Don’t. I did it because I wanted to help and because we’re friends. I know when I first moved here, out on my own, it was terrifying. I felt alone. Lost. And I didn’t… want anyone else to go through that. But you don’t have to. That’s the great thing about Veronica’s place. Everyone knows each other.”

 

“Isn’t that also the bad thing? I can’t imagine how quick gossip spreads. If you want to keep anything a secret it probably ends up spreading faster.”

 

“You put Kevin in any building and everyone's going to know everything quicker than that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “But he’s a great guy with a good heart who’s super loyal. It’s nice to have friends you know you can count on when everything in the world is…”

 

“Going to shit?” he supplied.

 

“I was going to say messy, but yeah. Yeah, I think going to shit is a good way to put it.”

 

They laughed and what would have been a comfortable silence settled around them, had it not been for Jughead’s ever-present anxiety in any sort of social situation. People were hard to read. Social gatherings were full of crowds, and crowds meant a lot of people who were all even harder to read than usual because they were trying to impress each other. He felt wrong, like his skin was crawling and people were watching him, even if their eyes only occasionally drifted to gaze in his general direction.

 

It was as if they all expected him to put on some sort of act to impress them. But he had never been one to pretend or fake a smile. He didn’t want to impress anyone. It just made it harder for him to keep them at arm's length and maintain a comfortable level of anonymity should they do anything to hurt him. That way the sting would be minimal at worst, nonexistent at best. The one person he’d let close enough was Sweet Pea, which was a perplexing decision but also one that didn’t involve the need to impress anyone. Sweets knew he was a piece of shit. They were both very aware of one another and all their faults. It came with the title of temporary foster brother.

 

Then again, there wasn’t much use in impressing someone who couldn't be impressed. You could present Sweet Pea with a portable star and he’d shrug and ask if it was iTunes compatible. Friendship with him was easy; there were no expectations. In a setting like this, Jughead could guess that everyone had expectations and most of them were going to be wrong.

 

Betty, ever perceptive, had apparently caught on quickly to his discomfort and pointed to the door. “Do you want to go for a walk? Get some fresh air and then come back inside? I’d suggest we go to the patio but I can hear the tomfoolery from here and you probably don’t want to be around it.”

 

He nodded, grateful for her intervention, and followed her out. Betty made up some half-hearted excuse, trying to explain to Veronica that she had somehow forgotten her coat upstairs and she was getting chilly. Jughead was going to take her to grab it and they’d be back ‘in a flash.’ Veronica raised an eyebrow, whispering something that left Betty flushed and shaking her head, before freeing them to go run their errand with the promise that if they weren’t back in ten minutes she was sending a search party out for them

 

“I’m sorry.” Jughead sighed. Betty was someone who seemed to flourish in social settings, and here she was humoring him with an outdoor excursion to calm his frazzled feelings. “I feel bad taking you away from the party. You don’t have to walk with me. I’m sure I can figure out my way around here long enough to calm down and make it back.”

 

Betty shook her head as they exited the building, Smithers giving them both a gentle wave. “Don’t be. Believe it or not, I’m not a party person either. I get overwhelmed in situations like that a lot too. It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, and I love them all, but it’s been a stressful week and just being outside on a walk is nice. It gives me a second to get my bearings. I’m sure you appreciate it too.”

 

“More than I can say. I don’t do well with things like that. I don’t know if you figured it out, but I’m not really a people person.” He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and held it up. “You don’t mind, do you? It helps with the nerves.”

 

Betty shook her head. “No.” She smiled, teasing. “But you know they’ll kill you one day, right?”

 

“What won’t anymore?” he snorted and lit the match the end. The nicotine filled his lungs, a quick release to ease some of the anxieties that had wiggled their way into his veins and pricked at his nerves until his thoughts raced and his heart twisted in knots.

 

“You know, one of the kids I teach keeps a water gun around the house and sprays it at his parents whenever they smoke. They say it keeps them honest. And clean. Maybe I should do that with you.”

 

“I’d like to see you try, Cooper.”

 

“That sounds like a challenge. And I’ll have you know, a Cooper always rises to one. I was spelling bee and science fair champion four years in a row.”

 

“Oh? Why not five?”

 

“That bitch Ethel Muggs is a dirty cheat and one day I’m going to prove it.”

 

Jughead laughed, blowing smoke into the chilled air. It curled up, dancing with the wind in mesmerizing shapes until he could follow the path up, up, up into the ether. A horn honked in the distance and across the way he could hear two pedestrians arguing about something mundane. It felt easy. Simple. Each sound was unique and his fingers ached for his keyboard.

 

There were moments, watching the world pass by, where everything felt miraculous. Even the cracks in the pavement and the remnants of old graffiti were something special to behold. Who was anyone to deny the subtle beauty of a crumbling before them? Perhaps it would fade away into obscurity. Or maybe someone would take pity and burn it to the ground, hoping that something would spring forth from the ashes.

 

“You know, growing up, I didn’t expect to be a teacher. I was going to be a PI or a journalist. I was obsessed with those Nancy Drew books. Now I read Nancy Drew books off the tablets the school makes me use to kids who couldn’t care less.”

 

“I swear, education is getting more expensive by the year, even when it’s supposed to be free. Between the salary they pay you, the expectation that you provide your own supplies, and if not that the kids do it themselves, it’s a mess.”

 

“It’s the funding. Not enough. Never enough. I feel bad for the kids who don’t have a lot. I try my best to provide but obviously I live where I do for a reason. I could save up and get out but I’d prefer if that money went back into the community. Just the other day I had to remind one of my kids that he wasn’t any less than his friends because his parents couldn’t afford to take him to the new Stark Wars movie. It’s sad.”

 

“I don’t like to get on my political soapbox.” (That was a lie. There was nothing he loved more.) “But as someone who grew up poor and has been poor forever and probably will be poor until the day that I die, I’d like to blame capitalism. Maybe that’s why I’ll never get hired by any company that’ll pay me a decent salary”

 

Betty laughed, bumping him lightly. “Come on. You’re college educated. I know that doesn’t mean much now that the bachelor’s degree is the new high school diploma, but you’re smart and resourceful. You’ll get an in somewhere.”

 

“Maybe if I could keep my mouth shut. I’m also abrasive and stubborn. Besides, I don’t want to get stuck working some desk job while corporate America sucks my soul out, as cliche as that sounds. That novel I told you about, the one I’m working on, I’ve gotten a little bit more done, but trying to fit it in between work and sleep and then mix in a healthy dose of writer's block isn’t easy. And as much as I admire the starve for your art mentality, it’s also not functional. I’m a realist more than anything.”

 

“A realistic, anti-capitalist artist who works construction during the day and writes the next great American novel at night. You’re an enigma, Jughead Jones.”

 

The way she smiled at him made the whole world stop. It didn’t start again until he heard the squeal of tires, the rise of angry voices, and the whirlwind of New York consumed him again.

 

“Jughead, can I ask you a question?”

 

“You’ve already asked me a few, so I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

 

“Do you ever wish you could go back to college?”

 

Her question startled him enough to pause. “Sometimes. On the worst days when I think I have no idea what I’m doing the nihilism can  get overwhelming even for me. Days that I turn on the TV or stream the news and ask myself why it is that any of us are doing what we’re doing. When you’re in college it all kind of fades away, right? The external bullshit. How can I focus on anything when I’ve got a midterm paper coming up for a class I never show up to, you know? But what about you? I can’t help but think college for a girl like Betty Cooper was a dream come true.”

 

She laughed and smiled a little too sadly for his liking. “Maybe in some ways. In others it was stifling. My mom offered to help me pay for what my scholarships didn’t and I felt indebted to her the entire time. So I did what she wanted. I told you some of my sob story, the journalism part. I joined the sorority I was a legacy for. I was chapter president. I excelled in school.”

 

“Sorority girl. Why am I really not surprised by that?”

 

“I’m not a surprising person. I don’t really startle anyone. In a lot of ways I’m boring. The perfect, sweet girl next door. It makes sense what I did, all of it, even being a teacher. For a while most of it was fun, the sorority parties, the volunteer work, but I never felt like I was really doing anything impactful. I felt… trapped. Stifled. But right here, right now, I don’t feel that way. I found my passion, teaching those kids, and I don’t regret anything for a second. There’s this vast world to explore and as terrifying as that can be, it’s also amazing. Don’t you think so too?”

 

He saw it in her eyes then, the way they looked ever forward toward something she was chasing but might never reach, something he could never understand. Maybe he didn’t want to. Just watching the light flicker like a small flame ever smoldering was enough to lure him in

 

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. You’ve got an interesting outlook on everything.”

 

“I have to. I’m a teacher, remember?” 

 

“So tell me then, professor, how would you recommend dredging past the worst kind of inspiration lock on my book? I don’t know what it is, but ever since I graduated I’ve been stuck.”

 

She frowned. “I’m not sure. I’m not in you're creative space, and I’m not sure I know you well enough to make a guess at what it’s like. But…”

 

Her phone started ringing, a pop song Jughead didn’t recognize, as Veronica’s name flashed across the screen. Betty sighed before answering. “Hi. I know. I know, I’m sorry. I promise we’re coming back right now. Oh my god, V, NO!  _ No.  _ Don’t go there. I… okay, fine. We’re coming now so stop worrying. Okay. I love you too. Bye.” She hung up with a roll of her eyes. “We have been not only been found out, but also summoned. I think it’s time to get back.”

 

“Well it was fun while it lasted.” He squashed the butt of his cigarette under his heel as they turned back into the complex. “Thanks for walking with me. It was nice to get away. I think I might actually stay the rest of the night now.”

 

“I can’t tell you how happy that would make V and Archie. I think Archie likes you, and once he finds a friend, he’s not someone who lets go particularly easily. He’s like a golden retriever trapped inside a human’s body. It’s endearing. Sometimes overwhelming. Generally just sweet.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

As they approached the apartment door, the sounds of the party grew louders. Whatever quiet get together was going on before was officially turning into a full-fledged party. Jughead tried not to feel nauseated at the thought. Had it not been for Betty by his side, he might have turned around and walked away, curling up on his mattress with his dog—not his dog, technically, he had to remind himself—and a good book that he could fade away into.

 

“Oh. Jughead.” She turned to him with a gentle smile and placed her hand on his shoulder. It lingered longer than he expected, sending electric shocks through his veins. “I hope you find your inspiration soon. If you ever want another set of eyes on anything, you can always ask. I know people can get protective over things they create, so you don’t have to take me up on the offer, but I wanted to let you know it was on the table indefinitely.”

 

“Thank you, Betty. I appreciate it. We’ll see how things go and I’ll let you know.”

 

Before they could continue, Veronica grabbed her arm, dragging her away to the corner of the room where Kevin, Toni, and Cheryl were seated, whispering about something that left everyone blushing. Or maybe that was the wine. Apparently, in the time they’d been gone, they’d finished off Betty’s gift along with a few other bottles that had been lying around the house. Jughead contemplated joining them, but judging from the look on Cheryl’s face, he wasn’t wanted.

 

Or maybe that was the look Cheryl always had on her face. The few times they had crossed path in the elevators or the hallways, she had looked at him the same way—like he was beneath her very existence and even having to breath the same air as him was something she found distasteful in the worst way. Toni was a little nicer. She at least gave him a smile and asked how his day was.

 

Their relationship was perplexing in the same way most things about Lodge’s Luxury Apartments were to him. Toni and Cheryl, on the outside, were the two least compatible people in the world. Ms. Blossom was from wealth, the same way Veronica was, though the tales of their respective falls from grace differed in semantics. Toni, on the other hand, was an unapologetic, pot-smoking tattoo artist who took pleasure in watching the way the well-kempt postman squirmed when she offered him a hit when he dropped off a package. Then again, maybe that was the reason they were together.

 

Without Betty by his side, Jughead felt awkward. He snuck back to the food table, stuffing his face with something labeled a mini quiche before beginning his delicate plate stacking, hoping to sneak off with some snacks to hide in the fridge. It would fit perfectly between the leftover Chinese food and the leftover pizza, blocking the leftover  _ something  _ that had transcended mere sustenance and begun its evolution into humanity from view. It was like one of the science experiments he’d never done in high school. Maybe once upon a time someone would have called it meatloaf, but no one in their right mind would do so now.

 

He really needed to deep clean his house. And soon.

 

Just as he was about to make out like a bandit, he heard the soft shout of Archie’s voice and inwardly, he groaned. Maybe if he was quicker he could have gotten away. But he heard the shouts grow closer and soon enough a large, calloused hand was landing squarely on his shoulder. When he turned around, there were a pair of big, brown eyes staring at him with so much hope and excitement it should have been criminal. Betty was right. Imagining Archie with ears and an wagging tail had everything making a lot more sense.

 

“Jug, do you want to join us? Kevin bailed to hang out with the girls, so I need a fourth for beer pong.” 

 

Jughead looked at him apprehensively, trying to figure out how best to explain that drinking games were one of his least favorite activities in existence without having to delve into trauma that could fill up almost two entire Hallmark Christmas Movies with its dramatic angst. 

 

Sensing something was stopping him, Archie tried playing up a different angle. “We can put, like, water in some of the cups if you don’t want to drink. I know you work early mornings with construction sometimes. I don’t know if I ever told you, but my dad used to be a construction worker. I helped out sometimes, but it got to be too much between school and sports and music. I never had to work out though, which was nice. It would be cool to get to play with you though. No pressure, just an offer.”

 

He remembered college. And high school. Really, most of his life he’d been a social outcast, and he dealt with the repercussions like they were irrelevant. Scathing remarks were something he could ignore. Drunken teases? No big deal. It was genuine, honest kindness that confused him more than anything else, and Archie Andrews had tons of it to spare.

 

“I…” 

 

Before moving into the apartments, he might have said no. In fact, before moving into the apartments he definitely would have said no. He would have said no, turned around, and run as far and as fast as he could. But this time he didn’t. 

 

“Yeah, sure. Why not? I’m a little rusty so I hope that’s not a problem. I think I’ve played maybe twice ever.”

 

“Absolutely fine! We’re all just having a good time anyway.”

 

As they turned to the patio, Jughead remembered what Betty had said. He saw her, sitting there on an old shag carpet, laughing with a glass of red wine in her hand and felt the beginnings of a flutter in his chest.

 

_ I hope you find your inspiration soon. _

 

Maybe he already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Now that i have enough chapters planned in advance I can properly start doing this again)
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 4: Bills, Bills, Bills
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b <3


	4. Bills, Bills, Bills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurricane Sweet Pea arrives at Jughead's apartment to help him do a little soul searching while Jug tries desperately to cope with and define the feelings that have started bubbling up for Betty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I hope you're all having a wonderful Tuesday! I'm so excited about tomorrow's Riverdale episode I can't even stand it. I'm also eternally grateful I actually already had this chapter written, because my usage of my left hand is currently not great due to an infection (long story short don't use knives while you're on the phone) so I haven't been able to write much outside of required school curriculum. Eternal love to all of you who read what I crank out!
> 
> as always, much love to @bettscoopr and @indiebughead for being lovely people and lovely betas. and much love to all of you for reading my work <3

Bills. Just a million, stark-white stacks of envelopes covering the single coffee table he had in his house. Letters from his college, from banks, from everyone and anyone asking him to please give them money—or give them money right now no questions asked. A few were marked with red ‘past due’ stamps. Who knew how long those were overdue by.

 

He wasn’t in dire straights. There were moments in his life that he’d been far worse off than this in the monetary department. His stint inside a school closet was arguably one of his lower moments, though pretending to be Harry Potter for a few weeks hadn’t been terrible. At least, not until the cockroaches had infiltrated his Poptart stash. That had been an absolutely devastating travesty. He’d held a funeral for those poor smores pastries.

 

Jughead owned his motorcycle outright—a junkyard find that he and Sweet Pea had painstakingly glued and bolted back together—so that was at least one bill he didn’t have to worry about. Most of them were from his school. If they weren’t begging for a donation, the government was demanding for compensation for allowing him the privilege of earning an English degree at an accredited institution. A degree that was currently sitting framed in one of the cardboard boxes he hadn’t bothered to unpack yet, unhung and ignored like the rest of his garbage.

 

“What do you think, Hot Dog? Should we ignore it all one more day?”

 

He flicked open another envelope, groaning when he saw the credit card statement on display. That was unfortunate. Definitely something to be dealt with. Later, though. Much later. Later, when Sweet Pea hadn’t texted him saying  _ I’m on my way and I’ve got whiskey _ . Whiskey with Pea meant a night he likely wasn’t going to remember or forget anytime soon.

 

Apparently feeling a strange combination of sadomasochism and daring, Jughead risked opening the banking app on his phone. $52.18. Well. That was far less startling than it should have been. At least he was well trained in monetary balancing acts, and Betty had started helping him clip coupons in their spare time—a surprisingly relaxing hobby, especially when they sat in relative silence with nothing but an old movie playing on her laptop set between them. (Betty Cooper might honestly, actually, literally be the most wonderful girl in the entire world and he was having a very hard time coping with that.)

 

Hot Dog barked and licked Jughead’s hand. It was a sweet gesture, until Jughead remembered the Cheeto dust on his fingers. “That’s what I thought, too. We can adult later.”

 

It would be a nice distraction to have his best friend here with him. They didn’t have to talk often; a few text messages here and there to make sure neither of them were dead was enough to stay in touch. Sweet Pea really hadn’t even asked to come over, just assumed he was invited—he was, almost always—and used the key that was for “special emergencies” to let himself in.

 

“What up, nerd? Miss me?”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes. “No. Hot Dog, sick ‘im.”

 

The lazy sheepdog didn’t need to be told to attack newcomers; he was far too excited for any chance someone might be willing to give him a few extra belly rubs and behind-the-ear scratches. Sweet Pea’s eyes went wide, surprised by the beast now licking at every inch of his exposed skin, barking and wagging his tail in excitement.

 

“Hey, pal. Yeah, you’re a cute one, aren’t you? You could swallow Dandy whole.”

 

“Oh, wouldn’t that be a dream come true.”

 

Sweet Pea laughed, tossing the yellow ball currently at his feet across the house. Hot Dog skidded after it and they both winced when he collided with the pole. “I’m surprised with you, Jones. Last I checked you were an anti-dog man, and now you’ve got that  _ and _ a coffee table. Growing up on me, are you?”

 

“There have been some… interesting developments. All little birds have to take flight, Pea. I just so happen to be headed for an Icarus-like collision with the sun.”

 

Life had been troubling lately. Jughead felt trapped, boxed in, lost in a sea of meaningless people all just doing their best to stay alive in a cruel and unforgiving world. Some days, mostly the days he spent with Betty, he could ignore those thoughts. Others, they crushed him. The walls were closing in from all sides and it took everything in his heart to stay above water.

 

Sweet Pea must have noticed the shift in his eyes, the edge in his voice, because from inside his leather jacket he procured a bottle of Jack Daniels Honey. (Because  _ it tastes good, fuck you, Jones, I don’t need your judgement. _ )

 

“We’re doing shots tonight.”

 

Shots. God that sounded dangerous. “I don’t know. Remember the last time—” Mercifully, his phone started to ring.

 

Her face popped up on his home screen first, a picture he took a few days ago of her kneeling at the park, arms around Hot Dog, looking like a vision in her light purple sweater. The wind had blown her ponytail out so her carefully-curled, blonde locks were resting at her shoulders. She was beaming, so bright and stunning even now his heart tried to stop itself. What the hell was Betty Cooper doing to him?

 

Sweet Pea gasped. “Who the hell is Betty Cooper with a dog emoji? Jughead, you don’t put emojis next to your contacts!”

 

“Shut up and I’ll tell you later.” Before Sweet Pea could do anything more than stare and wiggle his eyebrows, Jughead was answering the call, trying to squash the butterflies in his stomach. “Betty, hey. Whats up?”

 

“Juggie! I’m glad you answered. I know you’re sometimes busy or asleep this early on your days off. Most of the complex is at the bar tonight to watch Archie play and I um… well I guess I was maybe… wondering if you wanted to come? To support our friend, I mean! You haven’t heard him play before. Well, you’ve heard him play but not like this.”

 

Sweet Pea, who had pressed so close he might as well have been  _ in _ Jughead’s lap, gasped and mouthed. “You say yes right now, fucker.”

 

“Um… I’d love to but… I have a friend over tonight. Maybe I can go next week or something?”

 

“What the hell? No! Go!” His “friend” was so loud, Jughead gave him a swift kick, glaring to let him know to knock it the fuck off before he spent his night alone instead.

 

“Oh.” The disappointment in Betty’s voice almost excited him, knowing that she wanted him to come meant lot. “I’ll miss you. Know that you’re always invited. We go nearly every weekend so maybe you can come next time? I know I… everyone would be excited to hang out.”

 

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. “Yeah. Next time. I promise, next time.”

 

“Okay. Are we still on for our Sunday thrifting? Ethel snapped me a view pictures of the stuff they got in and it’s amazing. I think there’s something I could use to hang that chalkboard in my classroom, the one with the gold stars I told you about, up above the kid’s desks.”

 

“Yeah? That would be amazing. It could go next to the calendar we put together last week. We’ll have to check it out next time.”

 

“Really? Oh I can’t wait! We can do pizza again. Maybe movies if you’re up for it.” Immediately he could hear her voice brighten, despite the increasingly louder shouts from the patrons at whatever bar she was at. “Oh! I think Archie’s opener is about to come on, so I have to go. I’ll see you soon, Juggie.”

 

“See you soon, Betts.”

 

Every inch of him felt like it had been dipped in water and electrified. The things Betty did to his heart were going to give him a coronary sometime soon. He had never felt like this before, and it, to be uncouth, scared the absolute shit out of him. Lots of things made sense. Taxes, while stupid, made sense. Sweet Pea, while annoying, made sense. Betty, and every feeling he had had for her—no matter how fleeting—did not make sense.

 

“You know,” Sweet Pea started before he could be stopped. “I’m just saying, but the next time you get a booty call, I’m totally okay with being kicked out of the house.”

 

He groaned. “Can we not right now? I’m up for doing shots if it’ll get you to shut up and leave me alone.”

 

“Oh, we’ll be doing shots. We’ll be doing shots while you tell me about whatever the hell you’ve got going on with Betty Cooper Dog Emoji.” He turned to Hot Dog, running a hand through his white and grey fur. “Do I have you to thank for helping my friend lose his V card? I feel like I do. You’re a good soldier.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Pea. Pour me the shot and you’ll get your stupid story. To be clear, not that it matters at all, yes, I am still a virgin.”

 

“Not for long, judging by what I heard.”

 

It took a few shots to loosen Jughead’s tongue enough for the story to start tumbling out. He explained how he’d met Betty thanks to the loud spat between the proverable enemies of cats and dogs. How they’d been spending time together lately, going out to the thrift shop whenever they got the chance to look at some more finds. And finally, how Ethel was starting to trust him enough to not point to the sign every time he stepped foot in her shop and follow him around like he was some hoodlum. Now she just glared.

 

He tried his best to explain the confusing myriad of feelings he’d experienced. None of it made sense and it was starting to weigh down on his fragile mental health. He certainly didn’t want to keep having anxiety attacks about how pretty Betty Cooper was, but he also hadn’t quite yet figured out what it all meant.

 

“You’ve got a crush on her, dude.”

 

Jughead groaned. “Gross. What the fuck do I do?”

 

“Well,” he popped open one of the few beer bottles in the fridge with his ring. “Two options. You either one, fuck her, or two, die.”

 

“Are those my  _ only  _ options?”

 

“Unless you want to get a passport and move to Canada, yeah, they are.”

 

He poured himself another shot, wincing at the burn sliding down his throat and warming his stomach. It helps ease the electric worry in his veins. All his lonely, log-cabin hermit dreams were crashing down violently around him, all thanks to a hurricane with a pretty smile and a big heart named Betty Cooper.

 

“Your first crush. You’re practically a grown man now. So why don’t you man up and ask her out on a date since you two are obviously dancing around each other like teenagers at a some shitty under-the-sea middle school dance.”

 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to have a relationship of any kind. I can barely keep friendships with people who aren’t you. Dating someone? Jesus. I’ve literally never even kissed a girl before, at least in the way it counts.”

 

“You have kissed someone though.”

 

Jughead raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You think our mutually drunk ass grab in the closet counts now? It didn’t when we were sixteen.”

 

“I had yet to come into my own sexuality, or out of the closet. Remember, this was before I dated Fangs senior year.”

 

“Whatever happened to you and Fangs? You guys were crazy about each other. Or crazy for each other. How many times did I walk in on that?”

 

“Shut your mouth, Jones,” Sweet Pea said half-heartedly. They were both laughing and throwing cans and bottles at each other. It felt good to have a moment like this with someone he trusted. “Fangs couldn’t handle me.”

 

“What you mean to say is he dumped you.”

 

“At least I wasn’t too chicken shit to ask him out.”

 

He swallowed a gulp of his beer. “Touche.”

 

They sat in relative silence, something easy between them that had been there since the beginning of their friendship. Back when things were tough— _ tougher _ , he should say—they would sit together and watch the stars. No one would say anything, they would just stare at the changing skyline until someone fell asleep first and the other was lulled into an easy comfort by the steady snores.

 

Now he was watching bottle caps roll on linoleum as the city lights dulled the stars. Maybe that was what getting older was like. Growing up, the stars dimmed and the reality of the world clung a little tighter until it permeated your bones. Then you’re a shell. A carcass with a scarred soul stuffed inside.

 

“I think I’m afraid to get attached.”

 

Sweet Pea blew a ring of smoke through his nostrils. He wasn’t supposed to be smoking in the apartment, but all the fire alarms had been tampered with by the last tenants—he’s sure they were running some sort of edible business, baking weed brownies every other day—and the grey clouds didn’t bother Jughead much. They were a comfort. Nicotine helped calm his skin.

 

“No shit, Sherlock. An idiot could have told you that. Listen, I get it. Your parents were shit, their marriage was a joke, but sometimes you have to take that leap or you’re never going to get anywhere. Go slow. Take your time. I’m not telling you to wiggle into her bed and then forget to call the next morning like I would have. We’re not the same person. What I am saying is at least think about it. About showing up with flowers and saying ‘do you want to get coffee?’”

 

“You say that like it’s not fucking terrifying.”

 

“Well yeah, but everything worth it is fucking terrifying.”

 

There it was, in the air again, something unsettlingly deep as Sweet Pea of all people gave him a lecture on life’s more complex values. He squinted at the cigarette between Sweet Pea’s lips. Normally things only got this philosophical when there was weed involved.

 

“Like Taco Bell.”

 

Jughead snorted, inhaling his beer wrong and coughing to try and free it from his lungs. “I’m sorry, what the actual fuck did you just say?”   
  


“Life is like Taco Bell. It’s so delicious, but it’s terrifying because you think about how bad it’s going to be the next morning. You can’t think about how bad it’s going to be, or you’ll forget the delicious part.”

 

“When the fuck did you get so smart?”

 

“I’ve always been smart, you just think you’re the smartest guy in the room because you brood well and look hot with a scowl. Surprise, bitch, I do too.”

 

Hot Dog, tired from his busy day of sleeping and chasing his own tail, collapsed at Jughead’s feet, licking at his exposed toes lazily until his snores were shaking the shoebox apartment. Jughead laughed, leaning down and scratching Hot Dog’s favorite places. When the dog wiggled, Jughead knew he’d done a good job. “Good boy. Yeah, you’re a good boy, Hot Dog.”

 

“You know what else I think, Mr. Commitment-Phobia? That you should get this dog. You said you were fostering him for Betty, right? He lives here. He has a bed here. Just fucking buy him already. The dog doesn’t need the kind of attention a girlfriend does, but it'll be a trial run to see if you can handle any kind of commitment.”

 

“You think a dog is going to help me decide whether or not I want ask Betty on a date?”

 

“No, I think a dog is going to make you realize you can ask Betty on a date. Also, do you have a couch or are we snuggling it up on your shitty mattress? Which, just as an FYI, if you want to eventually get in her pants, I’d get a box spring.”

 

Jughead laughed, snuffing out his own cigarette. “Do you ever think about anything besides fucking?”

 

“Never. It would ruin my reputation.”

 

To Jughead’s surprised, his phone began to vibrate, a series of short clipped sounds indicating a text message. Strange, the only person who ever actively texted him was sitting by his side currently leaning as far as he could over the table to snoop on the messages. Jughead grimaced when he looked at the notification: three ChatSnaps. He had downloaded the app in college after a lot of badgering from his roommate, but it, like most social media downloaded on his phone, was relegated to a folder labeled “garbage” and was touched only on the off chance Jellybean couldn’t get ahold of him.

 

_ MiniBCooper has added you as a friend. _

 

_ From MiniBCooper _

 

_ From MiniBCooper _

 

“Who the fuck?”

 

Out of nothing more than morbid curiosity, he opened the first message, half expecting to see an accidental penis shot assaulting his eyeballs before having to initiate a very awkward conversation with a very drunk frat boy who’d been given a wrong contact information. To his surprise, the video that played was not a sad and lonely jerk off, but instead a grainy out of focus shot of Archie on the stage at a bar singing a song that was probably situated between 20 and 5 in the top 40 summer playlist. He could hear two girls giggling in the background and vaguely made out the shaky silhouette of his neighbor Kevin Keller just out of view.

 

He clicked to the side to keep the video from looping, only to be visually assaulted in an entirely different way, dropping his phone in surprise. Jughead scrambled to pick it back up, unbelieving the vision that had been set before him. Frantically, he held down the replay button until those emerald green eyes appeared to him again. It was a picture of Betty and Veronica, likely taken by one of the other apartment-mates who had come with them, cuddled close at a bar. Veronica was holding a margarita in one hand, the other arm wrapped around her friend. They were both grinning ear to ear. His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the picture, praying that she had been saintly enough to put the timer on infinite before pressing send.

 

Betty looked like she had walked straight out of a 50s pin-up magazine and into the bar. Her hair was a tousle of messy curls, lips painted an intoxicating cherry red. He could see it clinging to rim of her glass and for a fleeting moment, Jughead Jones felt jealous of silverware. She had on high-waisted shorts and a top that clung too tight and was also cut sinfully low. When he finally remembered to breath again, the air caught in his throat and if Sweet Pea hadn’t been there with a switch punch to his back, he might have have lost a lung. At least he would die a happy, albeit confused man.

 

The caption of the picture read:  _ Wish you were here, Juggie. _

 

“Well damn, Jones, Betty is even hotter than that first picture let on. Dog lover and smokeshow. I’ll ask again, why are you not fucking her?”

 

“Everything hurts and I’m dying.”

 

He let his head fall to the table with a loud smack. There was a storm brewing at his core, the winds of his heart and his mind whipping and whirling together into a hurricane of confusion that would no doubt leave everything in its path utterly destroyed. Jughead sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What the fuck am I doing?”

 

“I can tell you right now what you’re doing. You are grabbing this shot glass.” Sweet Pea was standing, swaying only slightly on his buzzed feet, like a too tall tree caught in a breeze. “And you’re going to drink. You’re going to text her and ask the name of the bar. We are going to go to the bar. And then you are going to recite you're favorite  _ Clue _ villain line or whatever the fuck you nerds do to flirt.”

 

He filled the shot glass up with a single sweep of the bottle and thrust it into Jughead’s hands, whiskey spilling slightly over the brim. “Bottoms up, bitch.”

 

After the amount of alcohol he’s already consumed, it was easier to take the last of the whiskey between his lips and down his throat. Fire burned its way down his throat until he felt it tingling in his stomach—the good alcohol kind of tingling, not the panicked, Betty-induced kind—and left him far too confident for his own good. The only way he could ever figure out what exactly he was feeling for his pretty blonde neighbor was to go out on a limb.

 

“Also. Just saying, but you should probably put on pants. Ones that don’t have dinosaurs on them. Unless you think she could be into that, and if she’s into you then that means she’s probably into some weird shit.”

 

They were out there door in five minutes flat, his lips turned up in a persistent smile at how excited Betty had been by his question.

 

**Jughead:**

Is it too late to take you up on that offer?

 

**Betty:**

No!

Arch just finished his set and always plays an encore. Should I tell the gang you’re coming?

 

**Jughead:**

Yeah as long as it’s cool my friend comes too

 

**Betty:**

Absolutely! Let me grab the address for you.

See you soon Juggie! XOXOXOXO

 

The bar the Uber driver dropped them off at wasn’t rundown per say, but he could see the years etched into the faded red brick. Graffiti marks were etched into the face like old scars of the past while a red and yellow neon sign flashed over head. They got in without having to contend with a bouncer and the easy smell of nicotine and bad decisions felt a lot like home. He noticed the overworked bartender trying to explain to a very drunk 21-year-old that no, the princess crown did not influence his decision to cut her off, no matter how persistent her friends were. In the back, a couple was pressed together, whispering sweet nothings as they rocked together to the rhythm strums of the guitar. For the first time in his life, he felt a pang of jealousy tremble right down to his chest, gnawing at the edges of his already confused heart.

 

Jughead let his eyes scan the rest of the scene, before finally settling at a booth near the back. He spotted the flipped curls and painted lips almost immediately. Veronica was sitting across from her, cuddled into the curve of Archie’s waist while he nursed a half empty bottle. Kevin was squished in between Toni--who currently had a lap full of Cheryl--and Betty.

 

“Can you play nice?”

 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and pushed Jughead a little harder than he meant to. “Please. I’m always nice.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

As they approached the table, the heavy sound of his tennis shoes on the floor alerted the group to their arrival. Veronica smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze Betty’s hand, and pointed towards him. Her blonde friend spun to great them. Those green eyes looked impossibly bright and Jughead felt the heavy thud of the music disappear with a single flutter of her eyelashes. Where were they again? What year was it? Did he know how to breath?

 

Probably not if she kept looking at him like that.

 

“Jug, you’re here!” she looked relaxed, happy, and not even a little buzzed, which made the fact that she threw her arms around him in a hug all the more surprising. “I’m so glad you made it. We all are. Archie was just about to go up for his encore, so you’re right on time.”

 

His hands lingered on her hips, feeling the softness of her body underneath the top stretched across her curves. Maybe, if he never blinked again, he would not have to wake up from this fantasy. No harm in being a little hopeful.

 

“Yeah? Lucky us? How was school?”

 

Betty waved him off with a grin. “You always ask me how school is and I never ask you how your jobs going? Or should I say job hunt?”

 

“Nonexistent and miserable, so maybe it’s better not to ask. I think everyone prefers hearing about first graders learning how to paint than my constant nihilism every time I look at my bank account.”

 

She laughed, probably more than she should have at such an unfunny joke. They were smiling at each other and for a second, a brief moment, Jughead thought he felt a spark. But then Sweet Pea had his hand on his shoulder, and he leaned down to whisper, “Want to stop eye fucking and introduce me?”

 

“Right,” Jughead coughed and the uneasiness crept back in, making itself comfortable at the forefront of his mind, where all the other depressing thoughts sat--right along side  _ I will never be good enough for anyone _ and  _ I’m going to end up an alcoholic failure like my father. _ At least it was in good company. “Betty, this is Sweet Pea. Sweets, Betty.”

 

“Good to put a face to a name. I’ve heard enough about you to write a biography I’m sure.”

 

Betty flushed—or maybe that was just his mind and the poor bar lighting playing cruel tricks again. “Oh, thank you. It’s good to meet you too, I’ve heard things too. Good! Only good. Mostly good. Half and half.”

 

“Sounds about right.” Sweet Pea snorted. “Asshole.”

 

Jughead groaned, rubbing the spot in his arm that had made contact with his friend’s swift punch. “I’m going to have a bruise there forever if you don’t knock it the hell off. Why don’t you go get a drink?”

 

“I haven’t met the rest of your  _ lovely  _ neighbors. Except that bitch. I know that one.”

 

Without looking up, Cheryl retorted. “Oh no. It’s the hobo and his Gangland friend. We were having such a good night before the trash stumbled in.”

 

“Prissy Bitch.”

 

“Nightcrawler.”

 

“Bride of Frankenstein.”

 

“No Class--”

 

“Sweet Pea--” 

 

“Cheryl--” 

 

“Play nice.”

 

Jughead looked towards Toni and nodded. They shared a tired camaraderie when it came to keeping sharp tongues securely put away in polite company. Or at least they tried. To get either Cheryl or Sweet Pea to actually mind their manners was a fool’s errand, but most nights it was at least worth trying.

 

Archie cut through the tension like he was a warm knife in butter. Whether that was because his ignorance allowed him to be immune to awkward situations or he was simply used to them was unclear. To everyone surprise, especially Jughead’s if the little ‘ah’ was any indication, he pulled him into a quick hug. Jughead could taste the alcohol in the air as his friend laughed. Well, at least that explained some of this. Not all of it. Later, Archie would be getting a very long lecture about the values of personal space on practical strangers. No free pass just because they kicked Reggie’s ass at beer pong once.

 

“Thanks for being here, man.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah I am… glad to be here. I think.” Jughead awkwardly gave him a pat on the back before wiggling out of his grasp. Who let an elementary school music teacher be that buff? There had to be laws about that or something. “Go play your music.”

 

Veronica invited Sweet Pea and Jughead to sit, looking absolutely thrilled at Jughead’s arrival. Her eyes flickered every few seconds over to Betty, who was sitting close enough that her knee was pressed against his and he could hear the crinkle of the sequins on her top every time she leaned forward in her seat. The old vinyl of the booths reminded him a lot of his quiet place back home—a little diner perched on the edge of the highway where he would watch cars drive by and imagine grabbing whatever he could and hitchhiking the hell out of town.

 

Cheryl was glaring at them from her perch on her wife’s lap, looking like a veela from Slavic mythology who at any moment might turn into a bird woman and start breathing fire in a fit of intense rage. Her gaze was cutting. Her words were biting. Cheryl Blossom was the human embodiment of a viper and he knew she liked to call her partner “Daddy” in bed. Jughead found it hard to meet her eyes for fear she might read into the depths of his soul and maim him for his knowledge.

 

Kevin and Veronica were absolutely fascinated with his friend. They asked questions from the meaning of the tattoo on his neck—one neither him nor Sweet Pea really wanted to talk about—to what he did in his free time. To shock them all, including Jughead, who had only known his friend to be a complete and utter liar at any opportunity, he told the truth.

 

“I own a dog grooming business. We do all kinds, but we do a lot of volunteer work for shelters to help the dogs look more presentable for possible owners.”

 

“Oh… that is really sweet.” Veronica touched her heart and smiled. “Is it possible for me to make a donation?”

 

Sweet Pea winked and a wave of nausea overtook Jughead. Leave it to his best friend to flirt with the obviously married landlord. “I can think of a few ways you could help out.”

 

Before Veronica could reach over the table and punch Sweet Pea for crossing the line between harmless flirting and actual propositioning—Jughead wouldn’t have been mad, sometimes that asshole deserved it—Kevin cut in again, burning to word vomit out as many questions as he could before someone shot him down. “So do they make you boys in a factory? Tall, dark, mysterious, and handsome? If so, where can I place my order form for one?”

 

Jughead felt the tips of his ears burn, especially when Betty giggled and moved a little bit closer, resting her head on his shoulder. (Was she drunk? Surely that was the only reason someone as pretty as her would be willing to put their hands on his dusty old leather jacket.) Sweet Pea, a man mad of no shame, laughed, his fist shaking the drinks on the table.

 

“Nice line, Kevin, was it? If you’re interested, I have a good friend who might also be in the market for a hot date. His name is Fangs.”

 

Kevin snorted. “Fangs? And what does a guy named Fangs do?”

 

“He works backstage in one of the theatres on Broadway. I think they call him like… stage manager or something?”

 

Immediately intrigued, Kevin fell into easy conversation with Sweet Pea. Archie had made his way back on stage and a small crowd formed at his feet, mostly full of excited, barely legal girls and older moms in thigh-high pumps. Veronica excused herself to go “protect her husband from the vultures” and Cheryl and Toni followed for moral support.

 

Jughead turned to Betty, feeling relaxed enough without everyone’s watchful eyes to start up a conversation. “So what kind of music does Archie play?”

 

“Hm. Hard to describe.” He watched as her front teeth sunk into her bottom lip, licking away some of the cherry-red gloss, exposing the soft pinkness underneath. If his heart kept skipping a beat like this every time Betty did anything, he was going to go into cardiac arrest for the first time in his early twenties. “I’d say Top 40 mixed with a lot of sadness. Male Taylor Swift might be an apt way to describe it.”

 

“Male Taylor Swift? You can’t really hear the lyrics from as many floors down as I am, but the acoustic guitar definitely gives it that vibe. If I hate it, what do I say?”

 

She giggled, squeezing his arm, before deepening her voice in an all too accurate impression of him. “You say, ‘Wow, Arch, that was definitely something,’ but in that way you do where it doesn’t sound like you’re being mean, just sincere. I don’t think you’ll hate it, but it definitely doesn’t seem like your kind of music.”

 

“Oh yeah? What does seem like my kind of music.”

 

“Would you hate me if I said My Chemical Romance?”

 

He laughed, louder than he meant to, earning him a few glares from the gaggle of girls who were already swooning as Archie began to strum his first few notes. “My ego wants to lie to you, but the realistic part of me remembers when I was an angsty teenager and that was all I listened to.”

 

“You mean to tell me you’re not still an angsty teenager?”

 

“Haha, Betty, you’re very funny. Someone should nominate you for an Emmy.”

 

“Only if I get to bring you as my plus one.”

 

The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard and Jughead turned away from the crowd to look down at her. She was soft, sweet, staring up at him with green eyes that swirled in the dusty glow of fluorescent bar lights. There were flecks of gold in her irises like midnight stars painting their reflections into the ocean. He forgot how to breath.

 

“I don’t think things like that would be my scene. That’s a lot of people and I’m usually one to stay hidden in my cave, hoarding papers like some treasure goblin.”

 

“So is this, but you came anyway.” Her voice was quiet and he had to strain to hear her above the steady buzz of the speakers. “Is it stupid that part of me really hopes that I’m the reason you keep coming out?”

 

The moment was over before it could really even begin, Veronica running over and grabbing Betty’s hand to pull her toward the dance floor. She looked back with a sad smile before joining her friend. Jughead watched her until those blonde curls disappeared into the crowd. He sat alone, trying to piece together the ever-growing complexity that was his relationship with Betty.

 

When Sweet Pea appeared from the ether, a lipstick smudge on his cheek that looked suspiciously similar to color on one of the bartenders, Jughead motioned toward the door. Archie’s set was finishing up so if they made their grand escape now, he wouldn’t have to deal with any awkward goodbyes. Especially to Betty, who’s question was still sitting uncomfortably heavy on his heart. He sent her a quick apology text, throwing out a harmless lie that Sweet Pea had too much to drink and needed to be taken home, and then another to Archie, praising the music he had barely listened to and thanking him for the invite out.

 

The ride back to the apartment complex was quiet as Sweet Pea, for once, let him brood and boil in his own thoughts. They stumbled back into the apartment, greeted by an excited Hot Dog.

 

“I said my piece, Jones.” Jughead looked up, surprised as his friend had spoken up, kicking off his boots. “You have to figure out the rest of this one all on your own.”

 

“I know. It’s just hard.”

 

“Yeah. What isn’t these days?”

 

Jughead didn’t have an easy time falling asleep that night. Every time he got close, could feel his eyelids start to droop and the master of sleep creep towards him, the worry resurfaced. There were thoughts, ideas, all hard to really put together, running through his mind about what to do about Betty Cooper. Maybe Sweet Pea was right—as startling of a realization as that was—and he needed to figure out where exactly he imagined the finish line to be. He was a romantic. He wanted love, affection, even if he never admitted to it. But the idea of getting close enough to someone to actually get it? Terrifying. Blood curdling.

 

That night, he dreamed about Betty’s red-painted lips, and what it might be like to pull them between his teeth and listen to her moan. When the sun broke through the curtains and kissed him awake, he wrote about it, too. He wrote until his fingers went numb and every last thought had been expelled from his body. Maybe it wasn’t a step in the direction of finally completing the next great American novel, but he was actually writing again, and for now he would consider that a success, even if the only words he could get out were about the softness of Betty’s skin, or the way she had touched him so tenderly at the bar, like he might crumble and disappear at any moment. It helped, to write again, and slowly he thought he might be starting to understand the feelings brewing in his chest, even at just a base level.

 

When Sweet Pea finally woke up, he gave Jughead a grunt—a relatively kind greeting given his general morning time grumpiness—and gripped the coffee pot like it was made of gold. It was old, likely on it’s last leg of life, and when the inevitability of death came for it, they would hold a touching funeral to commemorate the loss of such an important life. He had already made two pots that morning. Hot Dog had hopped on the counter and drank about two cups. The fact that this dog was not somehow dead was a medical marvel.

 

His phone started to ring and he half expected it to be Betty, either scolding him for leaving without a goodbye or to tell him about a deal she’d found at the local supermarket with her all too chipper  _ “9:30 AM is a perfectly reasonable time to be awake and excited, Juggie” _ voice. But the number was from the temp agency he’d submitted a few things too the other night in a desperate attempt to get him out of construction and into something that put his $100,000 piece of paper to use.

 

“Hello? This is Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third speaking.”

 

Sweet Pea snorted into his coffee mug and was answered with a pen thrown directly at his crotch. Had Jughead been more inclined toward violence, his friend would never have the option of having children. Lucky for him he was feeling merciful that morning.

 

“Forsythe, I’m glad you answered. I’m calling from the temp agency. We’ve got a position to fill we think you would be perfect for. One of the editors for  _ Cosman,  _ Sierra McCoy, just had their assistant go on maternity leave, so they’re looking for someone to fill the position. You’ve got a journalism background and the availability works. Is it something you’re interested in?”

 

Jughead nearly choked.  _ Cosman _ was no  _ Times _ , mostly focusing in celebrity gossip and latest fashion trends, but it was something that would allow him to get in contact with actual professional writers, maybe start showing off a few of his pieces if he could get cozy enough with his boss and some of the other higher ups. Yes, he would certainly miss the arm muscles construction work left him with, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Even if it was just for a few months, he knew this was the chance he’d been waiting for since graduation.

 

“Yes. Absolutely yes. When do I start?”

 

“As soon as possible. How about next week? I’ll email over some information to get you started. One thing you should note is that Ms. McCoy is… a very particular woman. She likes things done how she likes them done. Think you can do that?”

 

“I know without a doubt that I can do it. Thank you so much for the opportunity, Sir.”

 

“Of course. Good luck on Monday.”

 

The phone call ended with a click and for a while, Jughead sat there, listening to the dead line buzz on the other end until reality finally set in. “Holy shit, I have a job.”

 

“I thought you already had one of those.” Sweet Pea had taken the opportunity to dig inside the fridge, pouring chow mein on a slice of pizza and taking a bite like he hadn’t just created an affront to Mother Nature and pizza. “Lifting bricks.”

 

“I have a job that actually kind of has something to do with what I want to do one day. Fuck. Oh fuck. I can’t believe it. I need to call Betty.”

 

It was strange, how that was the first thought in his mind. He was sure it meant something, especially if the look Sweet Pea gave him was any indication, but right now it didn’t matter. He picked up his phone again and clicked her contact—the number at the very top of the list.

 

“Hello?” She seemed tired for someone usually full of life the second the sun peeked over the horizon and painted the cityscape in bright light. “Jughead, what’s up?”

 

“I got a job. Kind of. Temporary thing, but it’s an assistant position for an editor at  _ Cosman. _ ” Why was he calling? Why was she the person he wanted to tell first? Maybe it was because Sweet Pea was sitting beside him already, or maybe it was because he knew, without a doubt in his mind, that she would actually care.

 

Immediately, her voice was lighter. “Oh my God, Juggie, this is amazing! How long will it be for?”

 

“The old assistant is on maternity leave, so I’d say probably six months? Somewhere around there if she takes the entire time. Maybe as much as a year. I don’t know, we haven’t really worked out the particulars right now, but I um… I just wanted to call and tell you.”

 

“We’ll have to celebrate sometime soon. I’m so happy for you. I know you said you’ve been feeling lost lately, so maybe this will help you find your path.” He heard someone on Betty’s end say words he couldn’t quite make out. “Sorry. I crashed at Veronica’s place last night and we’re actually getting ready to do a mimosa brunch with Kevin. I have to go but maybe I could stop by later. I’ll bring cake mix and we can actually put that oven to good use.”

 

“You mean it isn’t just a giant, metal kitchen decoration?”

 

“You’re a dork. I have to go but I’ll text you later and we can figure out details. Congrats again, you deserve it.”

 

When he hung up the phone, grinning from ear to ear, he could feel Sweet Pea’s gaze on him. He took another bite of the pizza before saying, “Oh you’ve got it bad.”

 

Yeah, he probably did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 5: The Devil Loves Commas


	5. The Devil Loves Commas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: The Pole becomes a major character, working for Sierra McCoy might actually be Jughead's cause of death, I finally push the line enough for that M rating to make sense, Jughead's always a slut for a good pinot, in this house we stan wine mom Betty Cooper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to write my summaries a little different. Tell me if you like it in like fun tag format or an actual summary better. I used to do the tag format and it was always a good time because I feel like I'm trash at actually writing summaries.
> 
> In other news, Happy Riverdale Day my lovelies!! I hope you're doing well. I'm eternally and always grateful that so many of you read my trash nonsense and I love you for it so I hope you enjoy today's update! <3
> 
> As always, blessings and adoration and love to my betas @bettscoopr and @indiebughead for their eyes and their impulse control!

Jughead had been working for Sierra McCoy for exactly three weeks, three days, six hours, and fifteen minutes when he realized he hated his job. It wasn’t that the company wasn’t perfectly lovely (even though it wasn’t), but working for a magazine called  _ Cosman _ had not exactly been his end goal in life. It was more that his boss was a hardass in high heels.  _ Ms. _ McCoy–newly divorced and more than proud of it– was as particular as the temp agency had suggested. His work had already been a victim of her critiques, most of them boiling down to his overuse of long sentences.

 

On his first day at work, she had asked him why he was so quick to respond, despite all the rumors she knew were flying furiously around her. He had been hesitant to reply before answering truthfully: he was an aspiring writer with an English degree who’d been working construction, just trying to get a job in anything resembling the realm of writing. To his surprise, she had asked for a few copies of what he’d written–she’d hated them.

 

Maybe hate was a strong word, but she was certainly a woman of strong emotions. Every few lines she’d mark in decisive red pen. He’d wanted to grab her and say, “I  _ know  _ I’m using passive voice here but it’s because it fits for the narrative,” or “these aren’t run-on sentences, you just don’t get the  _ point _ ,” but getting defensive would help nothing. To be fair, working for Sierra wasn’t a complete nightmare. She had, for her part, actually been more supportive than most people in his life. After completely butchering one of his favorite short stories, she’d written down the name of a few literary magazines to submit it to. He might have sold his soul to the devil, but at least she was a helpful one.

 

Most of his days were spent answering emails, phone calls, and rearranging calendars for important dates. Jughead would not be surprised if he was in the early stages of developing carpal tunnel syndrome. On meeting days it would be his job to run out and get food—a fucking coffee boy, that’s what he was, that’s what his degree had gotten him and he would be eternally bitter about it if it weren’t for the money—and make sure everyone had sent him a list of pitches to submit for the meeting. With every donut run he felt a little bit more of his soul exit his body in haste, a sacrifice to the English gods.

 

During lunch, he would spend time on his stories, typing away despite the dull ache in his wrists and the strain on his tired eyes. Occasionally, the words would blur and Jughead would contemplate that eye doctor visit Betty had started nagging him about.

 

_ “Jughead, last night you couldn’t read the label on the back of a soup can. I think maybe it might be time for glasses. Or at least contacts.” _

 

_ “I’ll be fine.” _

 

_ “Alright, grandpa, whatever you say. Just don’t ruin my coupon clips. Mama needs all those 75 cent yogurts.” _

 

(He’d chased her around her apartment with a pillow until they’d collapsed on her couch in a fit of laughter, both red-faced and all smiles, and he tried to ignore the frantic beating of his heart every time he looked at her, hair fanned around her face like some divine being.)

 

(He was not successful.)

 

Whenever he thought about her for too long, he’d start to grin like an idiot. Betty was a life raft in a vast ocean of insanity, keeping him afloat with every frustrated phone call about typeface or a messed up order for the executive brunch. Her newest distraction consisted of peppering memes or funny stories from her silly classroom throughout his workday.

 

He felt his phone buzz, knocking against the stapler he’d set it beside after another frustrated call from Sierra. She was out today on an important something or other he hadn’t bothered to hear the details of. All he cared about was that he had an easy day and an early exit with no one around to tattle to her as long as all his assignments were finished on time. He wasn’t surprised when he saw the number was Betty’s, although lately he was experiencing an influx in outside communication, mostly from those in the complex. Apparently, he was making friends.

 

Jughead Jones, self proclaimed loser, loner, and outcast for his entire life, had recently made not one, not two, but somewhere between three and five new friendships. If high school him could see into the future, he’d probably throw himself off the nearest building before even considering the text Archie had recently sent about ‘hockey and hang night’ when Veronica was out of town next. High School Jughead would also likely have had a catatonic melt down at the very prospect of breathing the same air as someone like Betty.

 

Feeling only slightly guilty that Archie’s text had gone unanswered for bordering on eight hours, he shot him a quick,  _ Yeah man just let me know when. _ He hated hockey. He didn’t much like beer. He certainly wasn’t the biggest fan of Reggie fucking Mantle, who would likely be there as well, but he—for some unknown reason—really liked the red-headed husband of his building manager. Besides, Kevin would be there, and Jughead was actually starting to enjoy the strange relationship they’d cobbled together based on conspiracy theories and the occasional Griffins and Gargoyles dungeon run (yes, Jughead  _ did  _ have a character from his college days, and yes he  _ did  _ kind of enjoy Kevin’s company). He had to admit Kevin was a wicked good Dungeon Master. Also, a little bit of an asshole, but that's what made it all the more fun.

 

There was a text from the DM himself a little further down, right below Betty’s newest meme but above Sweet Pea’s latest series of drunk messages. (He wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing at a bar at noon on a work day, but he knew better than to question his friend, and frankly he probably didn’t want to know.) He was asking about this weekend, if there was any way they could sneak in a few hours of play to finish up the vampire battle they’d been stuck on for nearly sixteen hours because someone—Midge—had not wanted to just stake the stupid thing because he was “just a child” and “needed protection.” Jughead was still mad about having to make a Death Saving Throw and he would be mad about it forever. Hopefully the entire campaign wasn’t ruined because of some ill-placed sympathy.

 

Jesus Christ, if Betty ever found out about this she would slam the door on her way out and far away from him as quick as she could. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe Betty would be the kind of girl who would ask questions and even offer to join him one day, gratitude for helping her clip coupons at her dining room table for hours on end most Saturdays. Not that he would be telling her anytime soon. For now, his occasional romps in the land of G&G would remain a guilty pleasure, one that even Kevin’s gossiping mouth could not deny him.

 

The picture Betty had sent him was a kitten, hanging desperately onto a branch with wide, terrified eyes.  _ Hang in there, kitten. Not all days are purrrfect. _

 

He laughed despite himself, digging his fork into the leftover lasagna she’d dropped off at his door last night in a desperate attempt to get him to eat a vegetable. Apparently, there was zucchini hidden in there somewhere, pesky little veggies she had chopped so finely that they were invisible to the naked eye. She really was an elementary school teacher.

 

**Jughead:**

How many of those motivational cat things to do you have? you haven’t repeated a single one since you started.

 

**Betty:**

My means are infinite and my ways mysterious.

I have an app that gives me new ones every day so I share them with you.

How’s work today?

 

**Jughead:**

Tolerable. McCoy’s out on meeting so I’m getting off early tonight.

 

**Betty:**

That’s great, Jug! You’ve worked so hard, you deserve it :-)

 

Fingers hovering over the keys, he took a minute to contemplate his next course of action. Usually, thinking was not his strong suit, but when it came to Betty, every move was borderline overly calculated. He didn’t want to come across wrong, since he was still figuring out whatever emotions were stirring up in his chest, getting stronger and harder to ignore by the second, though still somewhat muddled in their definition. Jughead wanted to see her and hoped she might want to see him, too. Maybe he could invite her over for dinner and a movies; they’d been talking about starting a rewatch of  _ Forensic Files _ on Netflix anyway.

 

Betty though, like always, was two steps ahead of him.

 

**Betty:**

So I have a proposition for you. My kids won a reading contest and we got a free pizza party, but their stomach can’t ever hold as much as they think they can. I’ve got two extra boxes of pizza and was thinking that maybe I could come over and share for dinner?

If you want!

Don’t have to.

Just a suggestion.

A passing thought.

 

The little bubbles appeared on screen and Jughead quickly typed his response before her word vomit could continue.

 

**Jughead:**

I can never say no to free pizza, Betts, you know that.

7?

 

**Betty:**

Yes!

Can I bring wine?

It’s been a wine day.

And Caramel, if it’s okay. She’s kind of sick so I want to keep an eye on her.

 

**Jughead:**

You can always bring wine. You know I’m a slut for a good pinot. And you can bring the cat too. She likes me better than you.

 

**Betty:**   
That’s only a little true. I can’t blame her though. You’re pretty handsome.

Perfection, you’ll get to watch me slap the bag tonight.

 

Before he could properly wonder what in the hell that was a euphemism for, his phone—the work one, the one that did not have a blonde beauty on the other end who made his heart beat too fast—started to ring. The call was from Sierra, who had a few more choice words to say about his latest email to her underlings. She wanted a few corrections sent out, changes in times and locations, and a reminder for him to  _ use a comma for the love of God, Jones, Oxford is weeping. _

 

When he finally got home, he kicked off his shoes so fiercely it sent Hot Dog in a tizzy, chasing after them with excitement like he’d just thrown a new tennis ball halfway across the apartment. Too tired to fight, Jughead groaned and threw himself onto the couch he had finally bothered to purchase. It was old, creaking in all the worst places, with cracks as numerous and troubling as Sweet Pea’s couch and with just as many nondescript stains. Luckily, the brown leather hid most of them. It wasn’t the most comfortable couch in the world, but it was functional. He could finally sit in the living room and admire his home. The only thing that sucked was the stripper pole that sat dead center, impossible to ignore even when he tried his best to tune it out.

 

The clock on the microwave—the one he had only recently reset to the right time zone, for reasons he did not even want to wonder about, it had previously been on Pacific Standard Time—told him it was a little past six. Betty would be here soon and he was determined to make the place somewhat presentable. Somewhat. He threw out the trash, made sure his dishes were done, and even put a throw blanket over the couch to mask some of the uglier tears. She’d seen it, of course, having been with him to pick it out. (Watching her haggle might have been the most beautiful thing in the world, her blonde hair whipping about like she was made of lighting, a firecracker ready to burst.) Part of him wanted to at least try for some some semblance of being a grown up adult man who was used to having a grown up adult woman in his apartment.

 

How did that old saying go?

 

Fake it until you make it.

 

At exactly 7 PM on the dot, there was a little knock at his door. Betty Cooper was nothing if not exceedingly polite, punctual, and practical. Her little quirks were what endeared him to her so much, making him smile as he opened the door. Thankfully, there had been enough time to change out of his work clothes and he was comfortable in a pair of sweats and an old white tank top. Betty had dressed down too, in her ‘lazy day’ shorts he saw a lot of and never stopped liking, the ones that were green with little flower patterns on the side. She was holding in one hand a stack of pizza boxes, precariously perched on a large container of boxed wine. In the other hand was her kitten, Caramel, the one who liked to scratch at his feet until he reached down to pet her.

 

Hot Dog gave an excited bark, trying to hop on his back heels to get a chance at touching the kitten. Betty smiled and set her down. Immediately the two animals were on each other, lost in a complex dance that only they understood, filled with excited barks and happy purrs and a lot of hair scattering on his linoleum floors.

 

“You brought a box.”

 

Betty laughed, setting it on the counter. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was a wine kind of day. The kids were so hyped up on pizza and sugar that I couldn't get a word in at all. And trying to get them to fill out their grammar worksheets? Forget it. They were crumpling them up and throwing them at each other all day! It was so frustrating. I put three kids in time out and it didn’t do anything.

 

“They had music today and I remember passing them off to Archie and apologizing. He just laughed and said it would be fine, the kids always listened to him, he would get them to calm down with his songs. They love when he plays musical chairs with different types of instruments. By the time he gave them back I had write ups for three different kids, and one of them he recommended go to the principal's office.  _ The principal, _ Jughead!  Archie  _ never  _ writes kids up, but apparently one of them kept hitting the others with their recorders and it broke into an all out plastic flute fight he had to break up using a set of bongos.”

 

“I almost wish I had seen that. It sounds intense. Little kids battling it out like it’s Game of Thrones? Come on, that’s a little entertaining. I’m mildly confused about Archie’s use of bongos, but I’ve never been around kids in a setting like that, so maybe it works like a Peter Pan flute.”

 

It looked like she wanted to glare, but after a few failed attempts, she smiled, shaking her head. 

 

“From what Archie told me it was funny, just a little too dangerous. It was like some epic, first grader sword fight. He would have let it keep going if I weren’t for the fact that the end of one of the recorders flew off and nearly broke a kid’s tooth. That’s when he finally stepped in. Do you want a glass?”

 

“You actually brought glasses?”

 

“Jughead, no offense, but I don’t want to drink wine out of your coffee cups again. It felt weird.”

 

“I can respect that.” he laughed as she poured them each a glass from the box. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous tonight. This was not the first time Betty had come over to his apartment and there were days where it had been in an even worse state of disarray. But slowly, inch by inch, something was shifting between them, and he liked the way it made his toes tingle.

 

Or maybe that was just the wine. (Probably not though.)

 

“I got an earful from Sierra when I was practically out the door today. She kept calling and making sure I booked her appointments right and her travel plans were in order and I’d sent the ticket info to her email even though she could have looked for it herself to figure out if that was true.” He rolled his eyes and took a big sip form his glass. “This job is going to fucking kill me, but I don’t even hate it as much as I want to. She’s surprisingly nice, if not a bit strict in her support.”

 

“I’m not surprised. McCoy you said? Josie, that girl I told you about, the one that Reggie’s like hopelessly in love with but won’t admit to, I’m pretty sure that’s her mom. She used to be her manager for her band, Josie and the Pussycats, but something happened and they all had a fallout. Not really my business, but I don’t think she and her mom talk much anymore. So maybe don’t bring it up unless you want to get hounded.”

 

He grimaced. “Yikes. Duly noted, thanks for the warning. So other than your entire class trying to reenact a scene from  _ Lord of the Flies _ , how was school?”

 

She launched into a story that made him smile, watching her excitedly bounce as she explained just how proud she was of all her little munchkins, working hard on their projects despite everything and earning them top of the class ranks and a pizza party to celebrate. The kids had been thrilled and well, she had too, if the way her eyes lit up was any indication. He always loved that, the way she got excited over other people’s accomplishments, no matter how small. Betty was wonderfully good and sometimes he thought the world didn’t deserve her.

 

Or maybe she was what everyone needed and the world just wasn’t ready to appreciate her.

 

“I think they missed each other.” She was sitting next to him on the couch now, watching as Caramel swatted at Hot Dog’s tail, catching it with her claws and making him yelp. The frustration he had didn’t last long and soon enough they were skidding across Jughead’s apartment floor again. “It’s cute, I think.”

 

“Yeah, it is. I think he gets lonely sometimes since I’m out more than I used to be. I mean, he was always passed out cold when I was at the construction sites. Sometimes Kevin comes over and takes him for walks though.”

 

Betty giggled and finished up her glass. It was her second, maybe third—he hadn’t been counting, just letting her pour them each refills whenever she deemed it necessary—of the evening. He could see her starting to reach a calm, sort of fuzzy place. Maybe he was getting there too, because her laughter became contagious.

 

“What are you giggling at, Miss Cooper?” he teased.

 

“You. You’re making friends. When Veronica first told us you were moving in, I remember she warned us and said not to be ‘overbearing’ because you ‘seemed like a solitary kind of guy’ and now you’ve adopted my foster dog son and hang out with Kevin and Archie on a somewhat regular basis. Enough that they both have stories to tell. I bet you have stories, too.”

 

“Yikes. Stories sounds bad. I hope they’ve said horrible things about me.”

 

The smile on Betty’s lips was positively sinful. “Oh, they’ve only said the most wicked things. How you’re such a big sap for your dog that you’ll leave for a few minutes to come check up on him. What an asshole thing to do.”

 

“Hey! He might get lonely. Hot Dog’s more of a people person than I am.”

 

“Speaking of puppies, the adoption went through well and everything, right? No funny business?”

 

“It helped that you greased the wheels and got them to move things along faster. It would be better if I could get a certain landlord to ease up on the ‘get your dog fixed Jones’ thing. He is a majestic creature and I refuse to do that to him.”

 

She nodded. “Right, right. We’ve had this conversation. You’d rather lose yours than him.”

 

“Whoa. I did not say that. Sorry bud, but if it’s you or me I have the Jones family jewels to protect.” Hot Dog looked up from his playing, somehow sensing they were talking about him, and whimpered. It was almost like the dog knew. Almost. “Don’t look at me with those eyes. My sister is never going to settle down so one of us has to have the option of carrying on the legacy. The very, terrible, shitty legacy.”

 

“Aw, look, you’ve gone and hurt his feelings. Don’t worry, Hot Dog, the ladies will protect you fiercely.”

 

There was a comfortable ease about having Betty in the sanctuary of his apartment that he had never dreamed feasible. He barely liked being around Sweet Pea for this long, and they had shared living arrangements twice now, both for somewhat extended periods of time. Even when he had a roommate, he would never willinging sit in the same space they occupied, choosing to sleep on the couch in the living room rather than surrounded by his snores and the smooth jazz the guy insisted on playing to help him get to sleep. Those were incredibly dark times, having to choose between some asshole named Carl and whatever the hell had happened on those couches over the past few years. (The school swore they steam-cleaned them every summer. Jughead didn’t believe them, always catching a distinct lysol scent whenever he entered the dorms for the first time after a vacation or long holiday.)

 

In his life, there was maybe one stable female, and that had been Sweet Pea’s grandma Lily. Lily liked to bake him pies and pinch his cheeks and tell him he needed to eat more. When she’d passed, both boys had been painfully heartbroken and they still went to her grave to leave flowers—always chrysanthemums, she’d fucking hated lilies.

 

The feelings he had for Betty were nothing like the warm affection he’d felt eating one of Lily’s pies. It was more like fire, scorching his insides and spinning him inside out. Sometimes, for no reason at all, he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, to examine her delicate fingers and see if the pads of her thumbs were really as soft as they always looked. It was confusing and horrible and yet it felt good. It felt nice sitting here with her, talking about everything that came to mind with a box of wine sitting between them, moved from the counter because Betty was upset it was getting too hard to reach and she was tired of walking. The little whine she’d given was too precious for him to deny.

 

Jughead didn’t know how long it took. Maybe it was minutes, or maybe it was hours. Time passed slowly when he was with her, minutes and hours tumbling together until all the wine was gone and Betty was looking at her empty glass forlornly, cheeks pink from alcohol consumption. He was sure he didn’t look any better, hair a mess from where she’d seconds before put her hands in it because, “God it just looks so soft it’s unfair that you use two-in-one Head and Shoulders.” When she’d taken them out, he wanted nothing more than to grab her wrists and put them right back in.

 

“We’re out of wine.” She sounded so sad it made him laugh. Her cute features contorted into a scowl, or what he was sure she was trying to get to be a scowl. Instead, she looked like a disgruntled child. “Don’t laugh at me, this is a serious issue.”

 

“I can’t help it. You’re sad because we drank all the wine.”

 

“You drank most of it. Greedy bastard.” The little giggle that followed was a reminder they had equal share in emptying the contents of the box. He was almost sad to see it go. Nothing was better than a boxed social lubricant to get them chatting into the wee hours of the morning. As it stood, it was barely two in the morning and the thought of Betty leaving made him sadder than he’d like to admit. “Oh! Oh I totally forgot, I can slap the bag.”

 

“There it is again. What the fuck does that mean, Betts, because I’m starting to think it might be something I do in the shower after waking up from a really good—”

 

“As much as I want to hear where this is going, and I do, so put it on pause and we can discuss it later, I am currently very interested in showing you how you extort the last drops of wine from a box. It’s magic, you’ll see. Waste not want not. Is that the saying? That feels like the saying.”

 

He hiccuped once. “That definitely feels like the saying. Now what did the bag ever do to you and why are you slapping it?”

 

“It’s a euphem… an euphanize… it’s a common word thing where you replace something for something else. I’m not actually going to slap it. That would be inanimate object assault.”

 

“Good, you shouldn’t. It didn’t do anything to provoke your wrath. And I hear you can go to inanimate object jail for that kind of behavior. The prison guards are shivs made out of plastic spoons.”

 

Betty reached out and put her fingers to his lips. “You shut those pretty cupid bows and watch mama work her magic.” She started ripping open the carton until she had procured the bag from its cardboard prison, proud of herself when she saw at least another glass sloshing around at the bottom. “Tada. Now I drink from it. And then you do. To finish it.”

 

“This feels like a college thing.”

 

“Well I learned it in college. At my sorority house. You are never to waste wine in a sorority house, it’s practically a felony. Do you want another drink?”

 

“Nah I’m good. The slap is all yours.”

 

Despite his complex relationship with alcohol, it wasn’t fear of FP’s drinking problems that kept him from taking one last swig with her. It was, above all else, the fact that he could already feel the wine headache he would have tomorrow brewing in the distance, threatening to make his life an absolute living hell. It whispered fearful words and dared him to push his limits. He would not. At least not tonight.

 

Watching Betty drink from the bag made him wonder a lot of things. The first was how someone could look so pretty doing something so ridiculous. The second, and more prominent, was a series of images of what life might be like if he had the pleasure of going to college with her. Something like that would have never had a chance at happening, and even if it did they likely wouldn’t have crossed paths aside from the occasional brush in an English class. Maybe one of their gen eds if he was lucky. He would likely have sat and watched her from afar, curious but never more than that. 

 

“Shit.” Her cursing, always so rare, broke him out of his little fantasy. Right on her shirt was a bright red splotch, no doubt the result of a drink gone wrong, spreading quickly across the fabric of her shirt. “Oh, I liked this t-shirt, too. I guess it’s a painting shirt now. It’s kind of sticky and wet though.”

 

“Oh, fuck. Wait, I have clean clothes. I can grab you a shirt to wear if you want?”

 

She nodded and he went to his closet. He pulled out an old flannel, one of his softer red ones, and offered it to her. The smile she gave him was full of gratitude. His heart fluttered uncomfortably again and it dawned on him that he was about to come face to face with Betty wearing his shirt, a sight that had lately been occupying his late night dreams. Before he could rethink, she was off to his bathroom.

 

When she stepped out, Jughead’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. The shirt swallowed her, eating both her hands and the little shorts, but showing off the long curve of her legs. Unable to  stop the involuntary and unsubtle movement of his head, he studied every inch of exposed porcelain skin. He tucked that knowledge away for future use. Like for his book.

 

Yep. That’s why he was looking.

 

To describe characters in his book.

 

(Or not.)

 

Betty must have caught him staring, because she started to giggle again. “Juggie, I want to play a game.”

 

He bit back a sardonic,  _ Oh, like Saw? Are you going to make me cut off my own leg to survive _ ? Instead, he asked, “Like what?”

 

“It’s easy, promise. We take turns saying something about ourselves. Sins and Secrets. They can be little things. It’s just a good way to get to know each other, I think. What do you think?”

 

Jughead was certain that if Betty had asked him to cut off his own arm in a ritual sacrifice he would have agreed to it at this moment. His blood was practically made of wine and she looked way too good in his shirt, making a primal part of his brain go haywire with excitement. Well, this was certainly a development.

 

“Okay. Yes. Sure. Do you want me to start?”

 

She shook her head. “No, I can. My first thing is… I once tried to get Kevin to sleep with me.”

 

He laughed, loudly, imagining the look on Betty and Kevin’s faces when they realized what was happening, what would never happen, and what should not happen. “I bet he was flattered after the initial shock.”

 

“I was really drunk, if it helps? Like, more than right now drunk. I just told him he was the only man who could ever make me happy. He told me he would never make me happy in bed, but he’d be honored to have me as his beard if there was ever the necessity to. It was a sweet offer. Your turn.”

 

It was hard to think of something that might live up to Betty’s reveal, either in hilarity or level of secrecy. “I have a little sister named Jellybean. We talk on the phone sometimes. She’s seventeen, thinks she’s a musician, and I really like her girlfriend. We’ve only met via skype like twice though.”

 

“That’s cute. How much you love your sister. I think it’s sweet.”

 

“I think you’re sweet.”

 

Sometimes, when he was drunk, as with most people, that little voice that told him to say things was not easily filtered. This was one of those times. But Betty didn’t seem to mind, a small smile dancing on her lips as she moved closer beside him on the couch. “I think you’re sweet, too. My turn. One of the reasons I went back home is because my sister might be in a cult or a commune to cope with the recent death of her husband.”

 

“Whoa. Jesus, Betty, that’s heavy. And probably really shitty for you guys. And her. And everyone. Bad shitty situation. Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“No.” She shook her head and that was all he needed to hear. There were a lot of things in his life he didn’t want to talk about either. “Sorry… too much? I can take it back and just pretend you didn’t hear it.”

 

“It’s okay. I’ll just give something equally as heavy we don’t have to talk about. The reason I go by Jughead is sort of because my dad is an abusive alcoholic and I’m technically named after him. And it’s not a name I’m particularly proud to have.”

 

Betty put her hand on his shoulder and gave an understanding nod. She traced down until their hands were hooked together, sending a shiver through his entire being. “I get it. My dad isn’t the greatest guy around either. I know we agreed not to talk about it tonight, but if you do ever want to talk about it, you know where my door is.”

 

“Yeah. I do. Thank you.” He squeezed her hand once, smiling gently down at her.

 

Even the softest glance and her spirits were back up. “So, what is your real name? You told me at the pizza shop it was a secret but I don’t think we should have many secrets anymore. Secrets are for losers. That’s what I tell my kids.”

 

“You tell them they’re losers if they keep secrets?”

 

“I tell them secrets don’t make friends, which is a much nicer way of saying only losers keep secrets.”

 

Jughead laughed, shaking his head. “I thought it was supposed to be admitting things, not you extorting me for answers.”

 

“I promise you’ll get something really good if you tell me, Juggie. Please?” It was impossible to deny her when she looked like that, wearing his shirt with her bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

 

“Fine.” He sighed, letting his gaze rest on the white wall in front of him, just passed the always conspicuous pole fixed to his ceiling and floor. “My name i Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third.”

 

“Oh.” She didn’t laugh like he had expected her to, like everyone else always did. Instead, she sat there, pensive for a few moments, apparently mulling it over in her brain, before saying, “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

 

If there had been any wine left in his glass he probably would have choked on it. Sexy was not often something he associated with his overused ancestral name, or, frankly, his very essence. There was a lot he could be described as. Cranky. Mean. Snarky. Mildly creative. But sexy had never been on the long list of insults people screamed at him. Betty thought he was sexy.  _ Sexy.  _ He felt the tips of his ears go pink to match the drunk flush of his cheeks.

 

“Juggie, are you blushing?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s both.” It was probably both.

 

Betty giggled and stood, a little shaky on her feet thanks to the inebriation of an entire box of wine. She was not a particularly big person so he wasn’t surprised it was affecting her as much as it was. Then again, he was a bit of a hot mess himself, so maybe those in glass houses shouldn’t throw boxes of wine.

 

“I promised you something really good. So you’ll get it. Did you know I took pole dancing lessons with Veronica? For about a year. I have a really good core still. I could show you. If you want.”

 

He felt his entire body seize as it tried to contain his soul, which had immediately tried to separate itself and float up into the stratosphere or wherever souls went after dying. Betty, his very pretty next door neighbor who had been giving him very conflicting emotional feelings, had just offered to dance on the stripper pole in his apartment. This was a dream. A very wonderful, very complicated dream.

 

“We should probably windex it.”

 

She laughed, shaking her head. “Unless you’ve been doing dirty things on it, I’m pretty sure V had it bleached before even showing anyone the apartment. Do you… not want to see it?”

 

Suddenly she was insecure, reaching down to fiddle with the bottom buttons of his shirt. Oh God, he’d fucked this up. He had fucked this up royally and had very little idea of how to fix it. So instead opened his mouth and was honest.

 

“I would really love to see it. If you still want to show me.”

 

And then she was bright again, all smiles and laughter and stumbles as she reached for the pole. There was no music, at least not out loud, but he could hear the rhythm in her movements, the song on her hips with every little movement. When she got on the pole, he actually forgot to breathe. Every breath after the initial gasp for air was ragged.

 

She was like a forest spirit, moving with such grace and dignity he nearly forget what they were doing, where they were, how long they had been there. Every minute movement was intoxicating. He felt it first, the twitch in his pants. It was subtle, until it wasn’t, and all he could feel was an ache in the depths of stomach. Tight. Something was tight.

 

Oh God, that was his pants. His pants were tight. This was an interesting phenomenon. That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been something he’d felt before. He was inexperienced, not a monk, but it was still odd. Not much got him this excited, aside from his few and far between fantasies. (Nearly all of which had started to be plagued with blonde hair and ponytails, mostly on top of him, mostly screaming his name. He was not a picky guy. Except that he apparently was, because the girl had to be Betty Cooper. Betty Cooper who was currently dancing for him. Betty Cooper, who was going to give him a heart attack at the young age of twenty-one. Betty fucking Cooper. Just put her name on his grave at this point, the entire world would know.)

 

She slid slowly down the pole, content with whatever dance she had done for him. There were messy parts, likely from a combination of wine and rust, but it was enough to send him into a full blown sexual spiral. Suddenly, he sort of understood why Sweet Pea liked to frequent bars and kiss girls. Maybe, just maybe, he would get to kiss Betty.

 

“You like that?”

 

“Yes.” What was wrong with his voice? Had he swallowed a frog during her performance? Certainly something was amiss if he was acting like this. At any second, he half expected his heart to burst from his chest like something out of  _ Alien _ before running off as far away from the situation as it could. “Yes I did.”

 

“Thank you, Juggie. That’s a very sweet thing to say. But I already told you. I think you’re very sweet.”

 

“I think you’re sweet.”

 

“We established this, too. But I like hearing it from you.”

 

She slid in beside him again, moving her hand to touch his sweetly, tracing like she had done before along the curves in his body. It made him shiver. Not that he wasn’t already shivering. If she saw the tent in his pants, she was polite enough to ignore it, choosing instead to cuddle up closer, letting out a yawn.

 

“Tired?”

 

“Uh huh. Long day. Long night. I should probably go back upstairs and go to bed, but I don’t really want to move much. You’re warm and comfy.”

 

“You could stay the night. If you wanted. I have a mattress we could share.”

 

Betty laughed. “You and your silly mattress, Jones. When are you going to get a bed frame?”

 

“I think I’ve grown to kind of like existing on the floor. I don’t have to worry about monsters hiding under the bed and I don’t have to spend way too much money on furniture pieces. It’s like, every win for me. Except the fact that Hot Dog just kind of thinks it’s one giant dog bed all for him. But other than that it’s not s’bad.” He was starting to slur; the messy combination of tiredness and wine making him feel exhausted despite how alert he’d been moments ago. He was still rather alert, but at least it was making headway on going down.

 

“Okay. I’ll sleep here. I don’t want to wake up Caramel anyway.”

 

The tabby was currently curled up on Hot Dog’s back, content to be pressed into his fur, purring loudly along since the sheepdog snores. It was a cute sight, one so sweet Betty picked up her phone from the table and snapped a blurry picture. She nodded, apparently content, and tried to stand. Her legs threatened to give out and Jughead caught her easily. She giggled and grinned up at him. “My hero.”

 

“If your definition of hero is someone who’s not going to let you smack your face into a coffee table, you need higher standards, Betts.”

 

“I think my standards are pretty high.” The look she gave him left goosebumps on his skin.

 

They stumbled into his bed together. When he looked at the clock, it was a little past four in the morning. He was going to hate himself in the morning, but for now, things felt good, especially as Betty tore back the covers and wiggled her way closer to him. Cautiously, he laid his arm over her. When she didn’t pull back—or kick him in the very sensitive nuts for stepping outside of boundaries—he relaxed more easily. 

 

Betty moved closer, tucking her head under his chin with a content little sigh. “Goodnight and sleep well, Juggie.”

 

“You too, Betts. Whoever wakes up first better make sure there’s ibuprofen and something to sop up the inevitable wine hangover in the morning.”

 

She giggled. “You mean me?”

 

“I definitely mean you.”

 

Maybe it was creepy, but he waited and watched as her eyes fluttered closed, studying her angelic features as best he could in the darkness of his room. Every now and again, her face would twitch a little, and he would catch the curve of her lips in a smile. If his heart could possibly beat any fast it might never stop. It was easy to fall asleep by her side, even with his brain promising him there would be hell to pay tomorrow for his grape-flavored overindulgence. 

 

Not to mention, he was going to have a hell of a time explaining to Sweet Pea how he’d ended up sharing a bed platonically with his extremely attractive neighbor who he may or may not be developing a crush on.

 

Maybe he just wouldn’t.

 

(And maybe, the cuddling wasn’t that platonic either.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always follow me on tumblr [@tory-b](http://tory-b.tumblr.com/)


	6. Risks and Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead continues to jump through emotional hoops causing him extreme crisis. Thankfully, Archie Andrews, dating extraordinaire and all around good guy, is there to help what Kevin calls #Bughead figure out what the hell is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! I know I normally update on a Tuesday, but I figured I'd throw this in early because finals are about to start (my LAST finals, I know I keep saying that but holy shit guys I'm in awe) so I'm probably not going to be updating much during that time! I hope you all enjoy this and thank you to all of you for being so amazing and interested in my writing. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Kisses to @indiebughead and @bettscoopr for being my betas.

Bacon.

 

Sweet, wonderful bacon.

 

Crisp, delicious, mouth watering bacon.

 

That was not normally the smell Jughead associated with early morning rising. Morning was for despair, eternal self loathing, uninterrupted nihilism, and coffee to wash it all down. That was what morning meant for him; not the sweet crackle of eggs being fried in ungodly amounts of butter while pancakes cooked on the griddle. Mornings growing up had meant foraging in the pantry and fridge for the most edible thing hidden amongst the aluminum cans of Beystone Lite bought in bulk at Sham’s Club. Most of the time that meant some dry cereal or a pop tart he had managed to hide from his father’s late night drunken binges.

 

After being shipped into foster care, breakfasts didn’t get much better. There were always so many kids around, and his foster parents made sure they all ate, but it was never that satisfying, morning breakfast he saw on the television during reruns of late night sitcoms. In those days he had made a mission to be out the door as quick as possible, to have as little interaction with anyone as possible.

 

Things changed a little bit when he lived with Sweet Pea the first time. Both of his parents were somewhat absentee as well, but, surprisingly, the guy knew how to cook. Most of their breakfasts were at night, usually following a falling out, offered as some sort of silent apology they were both too afraid to make. The most important of all their breakfasts-for-dinner had been after Sweet Pea joined FP Jones’ gang—or at least tried to. He had made it about as far as the tattoo before his grandmother had grabbed him by the ear, cursing and screaming and threatening every single snake that if they touched her grandson again, she was going to skin them alive and fillet them for the dogs to eat. It had been a primal betrayal in their friendship, one that still stung whenever Jughead let his thoughts linger on it for too long. The tattoo would always be there. That rift would always be there. But if they ignored it, they could at least pretend like it had never happened.

 

Jughead groaned, fumbling his hand across the mattress, trying to find where his phone hand landed during his late night flipping. He remained relatively unconcerned by the prospect that someone had broken into his house to cook breakfast. At least they were a nice murderer. Would pancakes come before or after repeated stabbing and apartment vandalism? It was probably just Sweet Pea anyway, trying to make up for doing something stupid again. He did that a lot—something stupid. 

 

Noon. That’s what the clock on his phone said. It was noon on his day off and he felt hungover and exhausted, but his apartment smelled like bacon. This was the start of a very strange day. His bed still felt warm and a part of him missed whatever had been beside him, keeping him comfortable through the night. Normally, Hot Dog was much more affectionate in the morning, waking him up early with and endless stream of dog kisses as a reminder to get his lazy ass out of bed and take his dog for a walk.

 

Jughead sat up and stretched, groaning when every bone in his back cracked at once, releasing some of the pressure that had built up from the night before.

 

The night before.

 

Oh dear God. Betty. She was the heavenly angel currently fluttering around his kitchen like a Disney princess. The same Betty who had crawled into bed with him last night, wearing his shirt, after dancing on the pole in his living room. Together, they had managed to throw back an entire box of wine and two boxes of pizza. It was impressive. Startling and somewhat terrifying, but absolutely impressive.

 

He flopped back onto the mattress, ignoring the groan of displeasure from his joints. It was a lot to take in as all the memories came rushing back to him. Things had felt so freeing after an entire box of wine, words falling from his lips and ideas dancing through his mind that never in a million years would he have entertained before. But more than the wine,  _ she _ had elicited reactions from his body he only experienced after particularly good dreams. She was an enigma bathed in mystery and wrapped in perfection.

 

Finally, Jughead managed to rip himself from the warmth of his bed. This was his apartment, and he couldn’t sit in bed all day and try to hide from her. Especially not if that meant jeopardizing a friendship he cared deeply for while he tried to sort out whatever complex dance his emotions were doing. Besides, he really had to go to the bathroom, and there was only one of those in his apartment.

 

The smell was stronger once he opened the door. He heard the pop of fried eggs while the radio on Betty’s phone played a song he didn’t recognize, but one that made him smile. It was bubbly and bright, just like the girl dancing around his small shoebox kitchen wearing nothing but one of his old flannels and a bright smile. He wondered how much of last night she remembered and if she regretted not only her dance, but their impromptu snuggling session.

 

He stood there watching for a long time, at least until the eggs were finished cooking and Betty wiped the little beads of sweat from her brow and smiled down at her feast with pride. Jughead didn’t think he even owned half of the food items she prepared and yet she had produced them from the ether with grace and ease. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and even some hash browns were laid out on his crowded counter, as well as a large bottle of ibuprofen. Yeah, the post wine headache was real.

 

Hot Dog pawed at her feet, giving a loud bark that nearly rattled the spoon she had been using to stir the hash browns off the edge of the counter. Betty laughed and plucked a piece of bacon from the paper towel she’d put it on. “You want some, boy? You were good on your walk this morning so I think you’ve earned it. Just don’t tell Juggie I’m sharing his food.”

 

“I heard that.” But Hot Dog had already pounced, clasping the meat between his teeth and running off to go chew on it in peace.

 

Betty didn’t jump at his arrival. Instead, she smiled and offered him a readymade plate, two white pills sitting on the side that he suspected were to help ease the steady pounding in his brain. As they sat down at his table, he was hit smack in the face with the domesticity of it all. Strange and jarring, but not necessarily unpleasant.

 

“You might actually be my guardian angel, Betty.”

 

“It was the least I could do. I was the one who brought the wine in the first place, so I put most of the responsibility for how fucked up we got on my shoulders. It was fun though. I haven’t just let go like that in awhile.” She smiled shyly up at him. “And it was better since it was with you.”

 

It hit suddenly and fast, like a bag of bricks being dropped on his stomach at a construction site. He forgot how to breath. He forgot how to blink. All he could think about was the curve of her lips and the flutter of her eyelashes. He was overcome with an intense desire to lean forward and see if she was as soft as she looked, as gentle and delicate and warm as she had felt when they’d curled up together in his bed. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to have mornings like this with her, soft and sweet and filled with breakfasty goodness.

 

Jughead Jones wanted to date Betty Cooper.

 

For a second, he thought he was going to be sick. Relationships were scary in a lot of ways, the first being he had never had one. He never had anything intimate in his life besides the intense bonds of friendship he felt with Sweet Pea, and even that was more like a hostage situation than a voluntary one. The only romantic partnerships he had the misfortune of observing all ended in disaster. His parent’s marriage had imploded to an insane degree, ending with his mother getting a restraining order against his father and moving across more than a few states to get him to leave her and her daughter alone. Sweet Pea didn’t really have relationships; he more fucked flights of fancy. Veronica and Archie were the most normal couple he had ever seen, filled with love and determined to make each other better people and support the other’s personal growth. In some ways, that scared him more. How was he supposed to live up to that? How was someone like him—a misfit with no knowledge, filled to the brim with crippling anxiety—supposed to create something as good as that?

 

For Betty, he was almost willing to try.

 

“You didn’t have to take Hot Dog for a walk,” Jughead managed to choke out. He tried his best to sound infinitely more casual than he felt upon realizing he had the biggest crush of his life on his upstairs neighbor, but she was sitting in front of him wearing his shirt, smelling like his things, and filling his apartment with delicious home cooked meals, so it was hard to conceal. It was enough to make a braver man weak.

 

She waved him off with a smile. “Hush. I wanted to. I missed him and he’s a good dog. Besides, you and Caramel we’re curled up in bed this morning cuddling so I figured I’d try to get some bonding in with yours as payback.”

 

That explained all the orange cat hair on his chest and in his nose. On cue, the little kitten hopped up into his lap, wrapping her tail around him and rubbing against every inch of exposed skin to try and get his attention. Betty scoffed. “Look at her. Little attention whore.”

 

“Jealousy, thy name is Elizabeth Cooper.”

 

“Oh, absolutely. It’s not fair all the animals in the apartment complex flock to you. You have to have a ham stuffed under your shirt or something. I accept no other explanations.”

 

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t actually like animals that much? I like cats fine.” Caramel purred in his lap and littered his hand with kisses. It was endearing, even if it made getting to his food difficult. “But I used to hate dogs. Or maybe I just hated Sweet Pea’s dogs. They’re not real dogs. They’re half dogs. Dog Lite, if you will.”

 

Betty giggled, cutting up her maple syrup-soaked pancakes and taking a bite. He watched her mouth move, fascinate by every microexpression as she melted into the bliss of her extraordinarily delightful concoction. “I didn’t know that. I guess I do now though. I’ve found out a lot of interesting things about you these last twenty-four hours.”

 

“Yikes.” He internally prayed his drunk self had kept his mouth shut better than he thought. “Like what? Anything to make you run for the hills and never bless me with your cooking again?”

 

“Maybe. Is your name really Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third?”

 

Goddamnit drunk Jughead, you absolute buffoon.

 

He calmly tried to take another bite, ignoring the way his hands shook and the egg yolks scattered across his place. “It may or may not be. Depends on who’s asking and if there’s a gun to my head or other sensitive areas.”

 

“I kind of like it. It sounds regal. Fancy.”

 

“Betty, I don’t know if you’ve figured this out about me, but I am neither regal, nor fancy. The most upscale thing I own is a closet and a dishwasher and the highest society person I’ve ever spoken with is Veronica. Also, I don’t know who told you that was my name, but they’re a liar and can’t be trusted.”

 

“Jughead, you told me that was your name.”

 

“See? That’s my point exactly. I cannot be trusted.”

 

She reached across the table and smacked him lightly. “For the record, I think Jughead suits you better. A lot more nicknames you can use on it, too.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, since my name is, you know, something stupid like  _ Jughead,  _ but I’m going to take it as one and say thank you.”

 

“It’s witty and clever and unique, which are all things that you are, whether you want to believe it or not.”

 

It was a compliment that made him smile, one that felt genuine, straight from her core. It didn’t help that she gave him that secret smile of hers and reached out to squeeze his hand before going back to eating her food. They sat in comfortable silence, nothing but Caramel’s purrs and Jughead’s insistent begging for more snacks to fill the dead air. But it didn’t feel bad. If anything, he felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

 

Hot Dog barked again and Jughead threw him another slice of bacon. “Don’t say I never gave you nothing, kid.”

 

She always laughed at his jokes, no matter how absolutely garbage they were. It was sweet of her to humor him like that, and it only served to endear to him further the few freckles littered on her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. God, he was turning in to such a sap. She was going to turn him into Shakespeare before he could even finish up the next chapter of his novel.

 

“How’s writing been going?”

 

On top of it all, she actually seemed interested in what he had to say, in his interests and his hobbies. He had to bite back a dreamy sigh to avoid sounding like some love sick middle schooler. Before long, he’d find himself writing her name in hearts in his notebooks. (Did Betty Jones or Jughead Cooper sound better? Maybe they would hyphenate?)

 

“It’s going. Slow and steady, but that’s way better than the rut I was stuck in for months after graduation. It was like they gave me a degree and all the creativity was just zapped out of me. But I think this place helps, you know, because of the general insanity going on. Seriously, does anyone even need cable in this complex? You can just go into the hallway on any given night and see something out of a reality show.”

 

“It feels just as good sometimes. I mostly try to stay out of the drama, but it’s hard to avoid sometimes, especially with Kevin, Moose, and Midge. I worry about Kev sometimes.” Her voice got soft and he watched her deflate. “I don’t think it’s a healthy situation.”

 

“Mind if I ask what the hell is even happening over there?”

 

Betty sighed but nodded, finishing up the last of her pancakes before daring to start her long-winded tale. 

 

“So Kevin and Moose were a thing in high school, but Moose’s dad is super homophobic so they had to break up and Moose went into the closet. Kevin always sort of carried a torch for him, hoping that they would be able to be something, but it didn’t work. Moose eventually got together with Midge, and they’ve been dating ever since. God, I don’t know why Moose asked Kevin to move in with them. It’s a two bedroom apartment and I know it crushes Kevin all the time that he can’t have what they have. Being there and just watching? It seems so unfair.

 

“It doesn’t help that Moose keeps stringing him along. Sometimes they have their have moments and have sex, Midge gets furious, threatens to leave, and then the entire house implodes because none of them can talk about their feelings. It’s a disaster and Kevin’s always the one who gets the short end of the stick. But he seemed excited when your friend, Sweet Pea, gave him that guy’s number. I think they’ve even been texting a little here and there. Kevin got him to watch his YouTube channel.”

 

“Fangs is a good dude,” Jughead nodded, stealing the few pieces of bacon still left on Betty’s plate. “He’ll treat Kevin right. He’s an asshole, but an absolute gentleman, and once he finds someone he likes he’s attached and super faithful. Him and Pea dated for a little while, but they were way too good of friends to make it work. And back then, neither of them wanted anything serious. Sweet Pea still doesn’t, but that’s neither here nor there.”

 

“What about you? Would you ever want anything serious?”

 

He was surprised by the change in the conversation, but hopeful all the same. Her eyes were sparkling with something he couldn’t place and he allowed himself to wonder if maybe she had spent the morning thinking all the same things he had.

 

“Can I be honest with you, Betty?”

 

“Well, I’d prefer it to you lying.”

 

“I’ve never been with anyone before. No one. I’ve never dated. I thought I never wanted to date. It just wasn’t my scene, and I’d seen so many relationships fall apart that I just didn’t want any part in it. It seemed way too complicated. I didn’t get it. Sure, I had friends and I liked them, not a lot, but some. But there was never anyone I wanted to be more than friends with.”

 

It was quiet for a long time, Betty sitting there nodding in understanding. He watched as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, making them red as all the blood rushed forward. She opened her mouth to speak.

 

The shrill chirp of her phone cut off the music that was playing, shaking until it nearly clattered to the floor. Betty cursed and checked the collar ID. “Oh no, it’s Kevin. Kevin hates calling, he thinks it’s inferior and irrelevant. He only ever calls when something bad happens back at home. Do you mind if I take this?”

 

“Go right ahead.”

 

He tried not to be too upset, too curious about what she was going to say if the world hadn’t ripped the rug out from underneath him. Kevin’s voice sounded panicked, sad, upset, but Jughead couldn’t make out the words he was saying. Whatever they were, Betty did not look happy. Her expression morphed a few different times. It started with worry and eventually made the steady evolution to what he would dare label absolutely furious. It was a look he did not see often on her gentle features.

 

“Go to my apartment, Kev, I’ll be right there. I’ll text Ronnie and we can have a pamper day with bubbles and nail polish and everything, okay? Just grab a few things for a sleepover and I’ll be right there. Whatever you do, don’t talk to any of them. They don’t deserve to hear you right now.”

 

When she hung up the phone, her eyes were ablaze, scorching the beautiful forest that had once inhabited them and leaving everything in her path, including his heart, completely burned. Angry Betty was just as righteously beautiful as regular Betty.

 

“I’m sorry, Juggie. I have to go. Moose and Midge are being assholes again and Kevin needs a hug, a bubble bath, and Caramel’s purrs to help him get over this week’s heartbreak. I wish I didn’t have to go, but…”

 

“Friend duty calls. Trust me, I get it. Don’t worry about cleaning up. You made breakfast so I feel like it’s the least I could do, you know, since this is my house and you were my guest.” He laughed and stood, picking Caramel up off his lap and handing her to Betty. “Text me how he is?”

 

There was a special place in his very small heart for Kevin Keller, one that would make him more than willing to lodge a million complaints against Moose with Veronica if any of them simply said the word. He was protective to a fault over his friends. Maybe later, when everyone was trying to sleep, he’d start banging on his neighbor’s walls just to keep them from a comfortable, good night’s sleep. 

 

“I will. I’ll let him know you’re thinking about him, too. I’d invite you over, but this is sort of just an us three thing. We always do it when we’re sad or heartbroken. Besides, you don’t really strike me as the kind of guy who is super enthused to watch  _ Clueless _ and critique outfits from the VMAs.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Betty Cooper. I am a man of many layers. Who doesn’t love a pedicure?”

 

“Have you ever had one?”

 

He scoffed. “Please. I am way too poor for that. I’m just saying, from everything I’ve heard about them, they sound heavily. Also, I’m a dude, not blind. I can appreciate Cher Horowitz as the icon she is.”

 

Betty laughed, nuzzling into Caramel’s fur as she collected her few things. “You’re an enigma. I should know better than to underestimate you. Thank you for last night. I had an amazing time just relaxing and hanging out.”

 

“Thank you for showing me how to properly drink wine from a box. I think we both needed the night to decompress after all the shit we’ve dealt with this week. I wish you good luck come Monday. Hopefully those first graders will be better behaved?”

 

“They never are.”

 

Standing in his doorway, they spent far too long just staring at each other. No one wanted to break the ease of their simple morning, but there were things to be done. Maybe Jughead would check the mail and try to get in a little more writing before the wine headache forced him to retreat back into his cave and nap.

 

“I’ll text you later. See you soon.” She reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Her lips were gone before he could really appreciate their subtle warmth, and she was running down the hall towards the staircase (the elevator was still, unfortunately, out of order, and he doubted it would ever be fixed).

 

He smiled, leaning against the wooden frame for a second longer than was necessary, just watching her disappear as the door swung shut behind her. It dawned on him then that she had left with his shirt still on, wrapped so beautifully around her body it was like it had been made for her. He was going to have to get that back eventually. Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but these days he cycled through his clothing on a weekly basis to make as few laundry trips as possible. Not today, though. Today, he wanted to imagine her trying to explain to Kevin and Veronica why she was wearing his shirt.

 

There were still hours left to kill in the day with very little on his plate. Sierra had been mercifully kind and told him there were no assignments he would be forced to complete while she was away on her overseas meetings. Hot Dog had already been walked—thank you human angel Betty Cooper—and wouldn’t need to go out again for a few more hours. Jughead had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted.

 

Which meant he had all the time in the world to sit and agonize over his ever-growing affections for Betty. He liked her. He really liked her. He had a schoolboy crush on a school teacher and it was almost embarrassing how badly he already missed her. He tried not to look at his phone, to ignore its very existence so he didn’t over step and start sending messages he would absolutely regret. Maybe it would be better if he just threw his phone out the window and let the bits get eaten by pigeons.

 

Normally, in times of absolute crisis, he would dare to call Sweet Pea and hope his friend had something remotely resembling advice to offer. But when it came to things like this, matters of romance, Sweet Pea wasn’t high on his list of contacts. There weren’t many people he knew that were willing to help out. He could, hypothetically, go upstairs and knock on Cheryl and Toni’s door. He wasn’t particularly close with either of them, but he was sure they’d jump at the chance to mock him. Kevin wasn’t around—currently preoccupied by his own relationship disaster—to be much help in deciphering what the hell was going on in Jughead’s mind.

 

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I boy?”

 

Hot Dog barked once before rolling over onto his back, tail wagging as he wiggled to get comfortable for his mid-afternoon nap. Jughead sighed and stood. He grabbed the keys off the hook and decided to at least let himself be somewhat productive during his musings. Maybe there was a bill in the mail that would make him so utterly depressed he could forget about how happy he felt around Betty.

 

The mailbox wasn’t ever far from his apartment, but today Jughead took his time, deliberately taking the long way around to avoid walking past The Mason/Klump/Keller disaster apartment. He had yet to hear back from Betty on how their friend was doing—their friend, God that sounded weird to even think—but he was worried. Kevin was a sensitive guy. He was also a  _ good  _ guy and deserved a lot more than constantly feeling like he was second fiddle. Maybe this would be the wakeup call he needed.

 

Then again, who was he to make that observation? If Jughead were a braver man, a bolder man, a more put together man (Was he even a man? Sometimes he still felt like a boy dressed in his father’s too big suits and pretending like he was off to work for business) he might have dared to call last night  _ his  _ personal wake up call. Betty Cooper had practically sat on his lap and shimmied herself down a poll in front of his very eyes. The sexual confusion and excitement was hard to deny or define.

 

And yet, all he could think about the morning after was how helpless he felt. This, the world of dates and movie outings and kisses, was completely foreign to him. Sure, he had stumbled across it more than a few times in the cinema. It was hard to throw a script without hitting something indoctrinated with heteronormative relationships. But this was completely different. This was his life. His lips. His heart. He was the one who would have to be doing the kissing, or offering up horribly phrased pick up lines in hopes of stealing a few minutes of her attention from the hordes of people that no doubt were stumbling over their feet to ask Betty out on a date. She was gorgeous and sweet, with a job and a life so seamlessly put together he was intimidated by it. Maybe she didn’t deserve someone as horribly confused as he was. She deserved someone who knows how to wash their white clothes without assistance from Google and who actually cooked more than oven pizza and microwavable Pop-Tarts.

 

Jughead couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Betty might like him too. Despite all his faults and adulting ineptitudes, she was always smiling when they were together. She instructed him on which coupons were best to clip and took the time to tell him which sleeve of her painfully organized pink binder they belonged in.

 

_ “That goes with personal hygiene products.” _

 

_ “Yeah, Betts, I do actually know what toothpaste is for,” he teased. _

 

_ “You asked me five minutes ago if you should put the pizza roll coupons in necessities or food products.” _

 

_ “I still think they’re a necessity.” _

 

Things felt good when they were together. Maybe even great. But he couldn’t move past that nagging fear. It sounded a lot like his dad, who still liked to call and remind him how useless he was, or sometimes his mother, who only bothered to pick up the phone when she needed something from him (usually to chase off his drunken father). They told him he wasn’t good enough. He would never be good enough. Not for graduation, not for college, not for a job that actually paid him a living wage. And certainly, definitely, not for Betty Cooper, who existed as her very own shining star in a world of darkness.

 

He fiddled with his phone, contemplating pulling it out and calling the one person in his family who actively gave a shit about him. He and Jellybean didn’t talk much, mostly their mother’s doing, but when they got a few moments to themselves they would talk like good friends. He missed her. Every day he missed her and he wanted nothing more than to dial her number and ask her advice. But it was early. Early enough that Gladys would probably be around and hovering, badgering JB into doing some of her vaguely explained dirty work from her ‘job opportunity’ that made Jughead’s skin crawl. He could practically hear her teasing him now.

 

_ Big Brother’s First Crush. We should write it on the calendar and make it a national holiday! _

 

Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to have a normal family. A dad he could call and ask for romantic advice so he had more than Sweet Pea’s confusing threats to go off of. A mom who was excited about the prospect of her son finally dating, so she would badger him for information about the lucky lady—her age, her family, her upbringing—all in hopes her son might give her a few grandkids by the time Christmas rolled around. A normal family where he didn’t have to time his phone calls to his sister perfectly and their text messages weren’t written in a code they’d devised on the top bunk at midnight in case Gladys was hanging over Jellybean’s shoulder. A normal family. Or maybe just one a little less insane.

 

Jughead scrolled through his contacts and sent his sister a quick message. She might not answer for a few days, but eventually she would get around to it, and maybe then they could have a late night, 4 a.m. phone call while she was curled up at a 24 hour coffee shop on her third runaway attempt of the week.

 

He was so focused on his musings that he didn’t even register the fact that he had walked directly into the brick house himself, Archie Andrews. That man was an actual, literal, brick shithouse. He was even red and slightly outdated in his aesthetic. And he definitely hurt when you walked into him not paying attention. Archie gave a surprised “oof,” though Jughead was sure that was more of a conditioned response than an actual signal of discomfort. One of his twelve million abs could easily breaks Jughead’s entire spinal column with one well-placed nudge.

 

“Sorry, man,” Archie apologized, like it was him who hadn’t been paying attention on his way to check the mailbox, increasing his rank on Jughead’s ‘overall good dude’ list to number one. “I didn’t see you there.”

 

“I am easy to miss. But I think I ran into you this time, so I’m probably the one who should be apologizing.”

 

“Something on your mind?”

 

Jughead’s eyes narrowed. Since when had Archie gotten so perceptive? Or was his distress just so obvious that even the human labrador could sense his distress and was wagging his tail at the chance to make it better? On one of his better days, Jughead would probably have shrugged his shoulders and brushed off the question, making up some lie about work being terrible. Archie would have believed it—anyone would have knowing where and for who he worked—but today was a unique kind of distressful, and this was the guy in the only semi stable relationship Jughead had ever encountered. Archie was married, for Christ’s sake. He had to know something about women.

 

Probably.

 

Then again, every time Archie talked about Veronica, his expression was so dazed with a dopey kind of contentment that Jughead often wondered what they saw in each other. On paper, in practice, every which way in the universe, the Lodge-Andrews made absolutely no sense together. He was a working class boy from a small town who taught children and loved music. She had probably sent her dad to jail for tax fraud and wore shoes more expensive than two months rent at the apartments she owned.

 

In some ways, it gave him hope. If people like them could make it work, maybe people like him and Betty could, too. You know, if Betty even wanted to date him. That was still up in the air right now.

 

“Yeah, actually. And I think you might actually be able to help. Mind walking with me for a few minutes? You might have the expertise I’m looking for.”

 

Archie actually smiled. “Sure. I’ve got all the time in the world today. I got kicked out of the apartment so Kevin, Betty, and Ronnie could have bonding time. They’re doing mani-pedis right now. I usually get an invite, but apparently having someone who’s friends with one of the, I think the word Ronnie used was ‘shit list occupants,’ makes me an exile for the afternoon. Want to go get drinks or something?”

 

Jughead’s stomach churned, a loud and annoyed protest at the very thought of alcohol. “Yikes. Hard pass on that one. I drank way too much last night. Half a box of wine. Maybe more. It all started to blur together after a while there.”

 

“Sounds like college. What happened? Get rejected and go full spiral?” Archie put a comforting hand on Jughead’s shoulder. “We’ve all been there.”

 

Jughead had, in fact, not ever been there before, because he had never put himself in the position to be rejected before, which was at the very root of his intense anxieties over asking Betty out on a date. It was six words, maybe seven to ten if he threw in a few colorful ones for flare. And yet they terrified him to the point he might as well have been shaking in his shoes.

 

“Not quite, but in the right ballpark. You can come over to my place if you want. I have a few beers up for grabs. I’ll be downing waters in a desperate attempt to get the sour-grape taste out of my mouth.”

 

They head back to his apartment, mail forgotten. Hot Dog is fast asleep on his living room dog bed, snoring so loud the thin drywall might as well be shaking, while Cheryl shouts something overhead and stomps her feet in frustration. It’s a noise he hears a lot but is frankly too afraid to ask about.

 

Archie popped open the single beer Jughead had left in the fridge and made himself comfortable at the table. Jughead sat across from him with the leftover pizza from last night on a paper plate, uncocked out of sheer laziness and determination to not hear the annoying beep the microwave makes when it’s done. His head was still kind of pounding despite the aspirin Betty had given him that morning to help fend off the headache.

 

“So… want to talk about it?”

 

Jughead launched into a bare-bones version of last night’s events, careful not to out Betty for pole dancing in his apartment. It was hot, and maybe something he wanted to keep to himself for rainy days, but it also wasn’t really his piece of information to share. He did, however, tell Archie about the copious amounts of wine shared, the fact that’d had enough to drink that personal secrets started spilling out, her acquisition of his shirt, and his inevitable fall into fear all thanks to the dawning realization of his feelings and romantic intent.

 

“Just to make sure I have this straight,” Archie was smiling in a way that did, in fact, deceive how fucking hilarious he finds this situation, “You’re having an all out meltdown because you have a crush on Betty? Dude, are you in kindergarten?”

 

“Listen, you’re laughing like I don’t know this is weird. It’s weird. I’m a weirdo. Very very stupid and very very weird. This is not something I’m oblivious to. But that doesn’t mean I’m not freaked the fuck out, because I’ve never felt this way before.”

 

Archie sobered up quickly, frowning as he laid a hand on Jughead’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Hey. I’m sorry for laughing. I guess I just don’t understand because I’ve always kind of been girl crazy. I used to chase them around all the time before I settled with Ronnie. Maybe you’re the opposite, but still the same. You never wanted anyone until you found the right one. That’s kind of romantic, dude. I bet Betty would think so too.”

 

“It’s a good thing Betty will never know, and I will hold it in and die like a normal emotionally constipated person.”

 

“No, we’re not going to do that. What’s so scary about asking a girl out? You like her. You think she’s cute. She slept in your  _ bed, _ so I kind of think she’s into it too. Betty doesn’t really spend the night at random strangers’ apartments, even in like a non… stuff kind of way.”

 

Jughead paused and smiled. “Archie. Did you, a grown and married man, just call physical intimacy, ‘stuff,’ or did I mishear you?”

 

“Don’t judge me, dude. For Ronnie, it’s sex or making love. But with Betty? She’s like my sister, so it’s stuff. Because that way I can pretend it’s like chess games or cotton candy parties instead of what I actually know it is.”

 

“You are a strange man, Andrews.”

 

“Coming from you?”

 

He raised his pizza in a toast. “Ah. Touche.”

 

“So, want to tell me why you’re actually terrified of asking Betty out on a date? I get that you’ve never done it before, but I promise it’s not that hard. Just go up and ask her. She’ll say yes, man, trust me. I’ve known her for years.”

 

That didn’t ease his worries in the way it should have. It wasn’t just Betty that was getting to him, it was everything. The rapid pace of the changes happening around him was starting to give him whiplash. A new job, a new apartment, a new dog, a new life, and then add on all the stress of a sexual awakening he never planned on having, and Jughead was running out of coins to keep his engine running. Most days, it was easy to take it in stride, to ride the waves of change and accept the way the dice tumbled. But there were also times, times like now, where it was overwhelming, like a tidal wave crashing over him and pulling him under until he couldn’t breath.

 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Archie’s voice was calming against the cacophony of his mind, dragging him out from the depths of the ocean and back into the light. They were breathing together, steady in and out, and Jughead had never been more grateful for a person in his life. “I know it’s a lot. It’s going to be a lot for awhile. I remember, I’d like never had a panic thing before in my entire life, but then I was sitting at school one day and I started thinking about how I thought I was wasting my life teaching and not, like, chasing record labels. I just fucking panicked and I couldn’t breath, and then Betty found me and helped me through it. Right now? Right now things suck, dude. For you, for all of us, so you have to focus on that stuff that sucks a lot less. Because in that, there’s some really great things happening. For me it was meeting Ronnie. For you, I think it might be meeting Betty. So go out on a limb. Take a risk. What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

It fell from his lips before he could stop it. “Then I fail.”

 

“Okay. And?”

 

Jughead blinked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What do you mean ‘and’?”

 

“I mean and. And then what. What happens?”

 

“I told you, I fail.”

 

“Okay. Get up. Try again. Then you fail again. And then you do it again and then you fail again and eventually you get so good at failing that it isn’t failing anymore. Didn’t Thomas Edison say something about failure and the lightbulb?”

 

“Thomas Edison was a proven thief and plagiarist.”

 

Archie frowned. “Man, did every white guy in history fucking suck?”

 

“Ninety percent of them, yeah.”

 

“Guess that means we have to be part of the ten percent that don’t. Did you listen to me, Jug? I mean it. You think this is crazy and stupid and, like, yeah, it probably is, but so is everything we do.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

Jug nodded. “Okay. You know, every person I know has been handing out sage wisdom and I’m starting to get kind of freaked out by it. First Sweet Pea, then you. I half expect Cheryl to break down my door and teach me something about following my heart and ignoring the rejects of society.”

 

Archie shook his head, bringing his finger to his lips and shushing Jughead. “Don’t say that shit out loud man. She can hear you and she’ll come down just to prove a point. It’s like she’s got the whole fucking apartment bugged.”

 

“That is actually terrifying. You sure that’s not something you can report to Veronica? Call the police for suspicious activity? I’m sure she’s killed someone.”

 

“Not that you can prove.”

 

Jughead laughed, letting himself relax for a minute. It felt good to have friends, to be talking his feelings out with someone instead of hoping he could eat them into submission or vaguely waving his arms around in hopes Sweet Pea would understand his hand gestures enough to beat him to sleep so he could stop thinking about them. Archie didn’t look like he was in any rush to go anywhere, and well, he wasn’t in any hurry to push him out. Jughead pointed toward his computer and raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s not glamorous, but I have a Netflix password, and I’m sure there’s something we can agree on.”

 

“Totally, man. Next time, you come over to my place and we can play video games together. I’ve been looking for someone’s ass to own that isn’t just Reggie or Moose.”

 

“Oh, fighting words. I guess we’ll have to test that theory. Hopefully Veronica will be around so you can cry on her shoulder when I win.”

 

Halfway through the movie, Jughead’s phone started to buzz with text messages. At first he tried to ignore them, but when the notifications popped up on the computer screen and he saw the number was Betty’s—Archie, for his part, ignored the dog emoji next to her name unlike Sweet Pea—he was compelled to at least look at them.

 

**Betty:**

_ Kevin’s going to be okay. He said Moose and Midge aren’t invited to your Dungeon Run. Whatever that means. _

 

_ Apparently I’m invited though. _

 

_ And I would make a good elf. _

 

He smiled at the screen, unable to hide the dopey look on his face. Maybe it was the same one Archie always had looking at Veronica.

 

**Jughead:**

 

_ You would make a good elf. _

 

**Betty:**

 

_ Thanks :-) _

 

_ I miss you. _

 

His heart fluttered and he was typing before he could process.

 

**Jughead:**

 

_ I miss you too. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b


	7. A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Jughead tries his best to ask Betty out on a date and the world is conspired against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello and happy new year my lovelies! you are reading this and I am officially living my most Jughead life. That is, I am a college graduate with a degree in two social sciences and no plans for my future! So thanks as always to my lovely betas @indiebughead and @bettscoopr for keeping me afloat in these trying times <3 I hope you all enjoy this chapter! i promise I won't be teasing you for too much longer.

The fact that he was sitting at his desk staring down at a yellow notepad and crossing off stupid sounding ideas that have nothing to do with work was a wholly strange feeling to Jughead. What was even stranger was that the heading of the list was a series of words he had never once in his entire life imagined he would string together with a half-broken pencil in his office at a magazine.  _ How to Ask Betty Cooper on a Date. _ There was an entirely separate list on the back side of the page that consisted of date ideas, but he was more than willing to ignore that bridge until it needed to be crosses since, you know, he had literally no idea if Betty would even say yes to his proposal. Or if he could get the words out of his mouth to begin with.

 

His plan had been two weeks in the making. Ever since their wine night, complete with impromptu pole dancing and less than platonic cuddles, followed by Archie’s intense pep talk, Jughead had been mulling the idea over in his mind until it started to sound less and less terrible. Now it only bordered on the edge of ‘not great.’ He wasn’t sure if it would ever reach ‘brilliant,’ but at least he was making progress slowly but surely. A lot of this was thanks to Archie and Kevin, who were currently the only two people aware of his plans, and had been intermittently sending him text messages and talking him out of his crazier ideas.

 

At least, Kevin was. Archie had been all for the penguin-themed date to the zoo proposition, even after Kevin had to remind both of them it was monstrously illegal to even attempt to steal a penguin and he could not date Betty if he was imprisoned for poaching. Granted, Jughead had been two joints in during that suggestion, huddled up under an old blanket in his apartment because it was the only safe place to have these conversations. Veronica would rat on them immediately and Kevin had all but moved out of his home and into Betty’s spare bedroom after his falling out with Moose and Midge.

 

_ “I don’t even know why you want to get into a relationship,” Kevin sighed, taking a drink of his wine. “They all end in horrible tragedy. Every single one of them.” _

 

_ The weed-induced paranoia had kicked in at that one, and Archie had to walk him backward out of a panic attack while shooting Kevin a  _ really, dude _ , look that only he would have so artfully mastered. Jughead  _ knew _ the strain he got from Toni had more THC than usual, and was really starting to regret trusting her. _

 

_ “It’s totally worth it once you find the right person.” Archie argued. “Just look at me and Ronnie! I’ve seriously never been happier in, like, my entire life, and that’s even counting the threeway I got to be apart of in college with those two foreign exchange girls.” _ __   
  


_ The panic set in harder. “Oh my god. Oh my god am I going to have to have sex with Betty? I don’t know how to have sex. I mean in theory, yeah, sure, penis in a hole, but I don’t know how to have sex. I shouldn’t do this. I should rip up the list and pretend it was never even an idea. Burn it. Burn my hands. Burn my everything. Maybe I’ll burn the apartment down, change my identity, and move to Canada.” _

 

_ “Yikes. And I thought I had a fear of commitment.” Kevin laughed and took the joint from Jughead’s hands, squashing it in an ashtray. “No more of this for you. It’s a good thing none of the smoke alarms in this apartment complex work, you know, or this would be a very awkward conversation to have with Veronica. Where did you even get this stuff?” _

 

_ Jughead pointed upstairs to where everyone knew Toni and her greenhouse lived. “She said it would help me relax. I don’t really feel that relaxed right now.” _

 

_ “Toni’s weed is crazy strong. It’s happened to the best of us. Not you, Archie, you’ve never even looked at a drug a day in your life. Trust me when I say, as her very best friend in the world, Betty isn’t going to turn you down just because you’re a virgin. If anything, that might make her more interested.” _

 

_ “What do you mean by that?” _

 

_ Kevin shrugged and turned back to the carefully written list of ideas. “Now I was thinking. I really like the one that involves flowers. You can never go wrong with flowers. Betty loves daisies, by the way.” _

 

His list was messier now, filled with crossed out suggestions and half hearted attempts at being romantic. Theoretically, romance made sense, but even when he was writing it was something he worked hard at avoiding. It never felt organic coming from him. Maybe it was his lack of understanding, or his generally vague distaste for it in most situations. Even trying to plan out asking someone out on a date was hard.

 

Archie wasn’t sure why Jughead wasn’t just going to text Betty and  _ ask _ , for God’s sake. They talked nearly every day, so what was the harm in sending a text saying,  _ hey want to meet me for coffee? _ Kevin had tried to explain to Archie the complexities of the situation. They were too good of friends now for coffee to be anything resembling romance, so Jughead would have to artfully outline his intentions before asking her out.

 

Jughead had also contemplated writing it on her little white board, asking her out on a date and hoping if she didn’t want to she would just ignore it and they could go back to being friends without having the acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. Kevin, obviously frustrated with both of them, insisted on him meeting her after work with flowers and being the nice and genuine guy Betty obviously had a thing for.

 

He was surprised there wasn’t a gossip mill circulating around his plan to ask the apartment’s favorite teacher out on a date, especially when Kevin was involved in the planning. But Kevin had, graciously, given Jughead a time frame to work with before he opened his mouth. If Jughead could get it done within the month, he would wait for the news from Betty, pretend to be shocked, and then leak it out to all the other residents. He was sure this was a ‘thank you’ more than anything else. Fangs and Kevin had been talking a lot, according to Sweet Pea, ever since the next door fall out. Even Betty had reported a few dates. Kevin seemed happy, and while Jughead wasn’t sure why he was so invested in that happiness, it made him content to know he played a small role in it.

 

When the clock on his desk finally started to buzz, Jughead hoped to his feet. Sierra had agreed to let him out early today, unaware that his ‘very important doctor’s meeting’ involved seeing a teacher instead of a trained professional. Or maybe she was aware of it and was simply humoring him. That was a Miss McCoy past time, after all.

 

His group chat with Kevin and Archie lit up along with his alarm, revealing what he assumed they thought to be encouraging messages.

 

**Archie:**

_ You’ve got this dude! _

 

**Kevin:**

_ Don’t chicken out _

 

This exchanged was followed by three chicken emojis from each of them. Sometimes, Jughead wondered why he bothered to make other friends, when they were all going to roast him the same way Sweet Pea liked to. He might as well just add him to the chat.

 

No wait, scratch that. Terrible idea. Absolutely atrocious, unless he wanted Betty to know immediately what his plans were. Kevin liked to gossip, but Sweet Pea would take any opportunity to make his life an absolute living hell—it came with their borderline familial relationship. Besides, he’d tell Godzilla, and that little monster didn’t deserve to know about Jughead’s potential happiness.

 

(Maybe, if he ever went to therapy, he could have a long conversation about why he had such an intense hatred toward a small dog. After they addressed the extensive list of other issues that pervaded his existence.)

 

Just as he finished throwing the final notepad in his bag, he heard the familiar buzz that always indicated Sierra had something more she wanted to say before he left for his very important doctor’s appointment. He eyed the clock wearily. If he wanted to make it to school before the rush of parents crowded the area, he would need to be out in the next ten minutes. His bike was currently in the shop after some unsavory asshole had busted a taillight and left nothing more than a note. (Betty had offered to fix it, but for once, his insurance was being tolerable. Besides that, he thought it was bad manners to have a girl fix your bike and then ask her out on a date. Or vice versa.) It would take twenty minutes with a train ride and a quick walk, but he still needed to pick up flowers.

 

With a groan, he entered her office, not even bothering to paste a cheery smile onto his face.

 

“I’m off.”

 

Sierra rolled her eyes, unbothered by his poor attitude. Sometimes he dared to think she relished in having one person around the office who wasn’t completely consumed with kissing her ass at all times.

 

“I know that, but I had a question for you about edits you made to one of the articles and then you can be done.”

 

Jughead tightened his grip on his messenger bag and let out a shaky sigh. These edit conversations could last upwards of an hour if he let them, fighting too hard, arguing too much, or having poor coherency in explaining himself. Maybe if he didn’t sit down she would understand how much of a hurry he was in.

 

She didn’t. His twenty minutes allotted for walking was quickly devoured by Sierra’s persistent questions, critiques, and criticisms of his work for her. She kept saying things about how “bright a boy he was, if he just applied himself,” but at this point he was too frustrated by the situation to bother looking past the surface layer of her vaguely scathing compliments. By the time she had waved him off, finally free to go, school would be getting out by the time he made it there. Perfect. That wouldn’t be incredibly awkward—a grown adult man walking around an elementary school aimlessly wearing a messenger bag and holding a bouquet of flowers. He even felt creepy. He’d be lucky if the police weren’t called the second he stepped foot in the premise.

 

Despite the universe’s clear signs that perhaps today was not the day for his dating bravery, Jughead persisted. The train came on time and he managed to wedge himself between a balding man in an ill-fitting business suit and a teenage girl who was obviously skipping class. He watched her longer than he should have, thinking about his little sister and her dirty blonde hair. The girl was around Jellybean’s age, still in the midst of high school and obviously suffering through it on her own terms. He didn’t get to speak to Jellybean much, but when they did he heard all about the horror stories of fitting in with a single mom who owned a chop shop.

 

She had mentioned not too long ago that she’d been wanting to dye her hair. Or maybe it was a long time ago in the eyes of a normal family conversation, but to him getting to speak to his sister every three months was all he could ask for. She was addicted to old music, and the few times he had had enough money for Christmas presents he made sure to ship at least one record her way. He had gotten a letter back last year, with a thank you note and a sticker from her favorite vinyl shop he kept on his computer even as it clunked and whirled. Idly, he wondered what kind of teenager Jellybean was like in person. Was she as full of angst as he had been, or did she have a decent outlook on the world?

 

He snorted, audibly, confusing the young girl he was watching and her eyes darted back towards her phone. Jughead offered and awkward, apologetic smile before turning away and ignoring her as best he could the rest of the train ride. Maybe he would try to call tomorrow. He doubted anyone would answer, but it would ease his mind to know he did what he could whenever he could.

 

Ever since his father’s arrest and mother’s subsequent restraining ordered, followed quickly by Jughead’s rough transition into the foster system, their dynamic had been fractured on the best of days. He couldn’t remember off the top of his head the last time he had spoken to Gladys and FP was an enigma all by himself, impossible to get ahold of unless you really didn’t want to hear from him. Whenever he bothered to call it was from payphones or prepaid calling cards that screamed “I’m still affiliated with a gang and love doing drug runs even if it’s against my probation.” That was his father for you—a mystery masquerading as a man.

 

The train rolled into the station and he hopped of as quick as he could, avoiding glancing back at the poor girl he’d scared half to death and the businessman who was now sweating so profusely the train was starting to steam. There were a few minutes to spare if he wanted to pick up flowers.

 

Luckily, the path he took—or the one his GPS was leading him on—brought him past a quaint little flower and coffee shop. The bell overheard tingled and a kind looking woman gave him a wave and a smile as he walked in. There were a few bouquets sitting in water, wrapped in plastic, waiting to be picked up by naive boy like him. He wondered how many apologetic spouses has wandered in today looking for a quick bandaid fix for their marital problems. It was something his dad used to do. They worked for awhile, until the flowers stopped filling vases and started filling the trash. Jellybean used to pick them out one by one and they would sit for hours braiding crowns with the wilting daisies and peonies to use in their late night games of princesses and dragons.

 

“Need some help?” The woman smiled sweetly and he praised God for her kindness.

 

“Please? I need something that says, ‘I know we’re really good friends, but I sort of like you and would love if we could go on a date sometime, but if you don’t want that then these can just be friend flowers.’ Also, she loves daisies and I’m incredibly poor.”

 

The woman smiled. “Tell me, what’s she like?”

 

How could he describe Betty Cooper? Jughead bit his tongue to keep from gushing about her pretty blonde hair and brilliant green eyes and the way her smiled turned up when she was trying to keep from laughing after he made a stupid joke or a terrible pun. She was loyal and kind and with a heart so wide and open he often wondered how she kept it safe, or if she did at all. He doubted being a teacher was easy work, even less so with the time she dedicated to it. She spent hours on end huddled over craft projects, sewing costumes for her students’ little stuffed animal pals by hand when her sewing machine stopped working and meticulously hot gluing bows on what would be their Christmas door decorations for a challenge just so her kids might get the chance to win an ice cream party. Everything about her was utterly genuine and so devoted to others.

 

_ “Just call me the patron saint of lost causes,” Betty laughed, hunched over her sticker book, trying to figure out the perfect one to join the others on her collage. “My mom used to when I was growing up.” _

 

_ “I could call you the Sticker Queen instead. I think it might be more fitting.” _

 

_ She rolled her eyes at his teasing and plucked one of her blue, puffy stickers off the page. It was a lollipop with a little bow and a white, swirling middle. She eyed him before placing it beside one of the band stickers on his laptop. “I hereby dub you, Sticker King.” _

 

_ “What a lovely coronation! But I didn’t get to invite anyone. If you’re the Sticker Queen though, we’ll have to get you a crown.” _

 

_ “That’s alright. I’ll just steal yours next time I’m over. I can wear it with the flannel, which, by the way, you won’t ever be getting back.” _

 

“She’s… amazing,” he said finally, upset with himself for his lackluster description. He called himself a writer, but when it came to Betty Cooper, every word died on his tongue and he was forced to speak from his heart alone. Unfortunately, his heart was not half as eloquent as his brain, leaving him with a mush of messy poetry and words like ‘amazing’ for someone who far more than that.

 

The shop owner laughed, and for a minute he thought she might turn and leave him to his own devices. Instead, she picked up a small bouquet of white Gerbera daisies and pink roses. It was cute, pretty, eloquent and absolutely something he would have overlooked.

 

“Here, try this. Pink roses symbolize love and gratitude, so if she says no play up the gratitude for your good friendship.”

 

“You, Miss, are a hero. Do you happen to sell coffee here? She works at the elementary school just up the street and I get the feeling she probably wouldn’t mind a cup right now. Her class can get rowdy sometimes.”

 

“I do indeed.”

 

As she rung him up, Jughead calculated the weight it would put on his already stressed credit card and tried not to overthink things. Hopefully Betty would say yes and this whole mess would be worth it. The woman passed two cups of coffee his way and smiled. “On the house.”

 

“Bless you and your kind soul.” He had a pocketful of coins he left in the tip jar. It wasn’t much, but he was grateful for her kindness on a day that had been messy at best.

 

By the time he exited the shop, jotting down  _ Hilda’s Home Growns: Coffee and Flowers _ as a place to visit again sometime in the future, the school bell had already rung. Archie had texted him a few times, asking him where he was and giving him pointers on where to avoid suburban moms with strollers. After just stepping through the fence he had been nailed in the shins twice and completely ignored after the fact. Savages. All of them.

 

Kids were not something he was not particularly comfortable with. In many ways, Jughead found them to be utterly baffling. They were small and completely dependent on another person to make sure they were okay. He could barely keep Hot Dog alive most days and he was relatively self sufficient as long as there was food and water on the ground. He couldn’t exactly walk a child around the neighborhood with a leash to release its energy. Well he could, technically, but he felt like there were some regulations on that somewhere in the legal system.

 

A mass of children clamored about the playground waiting for their parents. Some were waiting patiently in line by their teachers while others were milling about the swingsets, daring each other to jump off. When one boy did, Jughead heard the tell tale screech and cry of painful rug burn. The others gathered around and immediately begun to praise him for his bravery even as they picked rocks out of his skin and looked around to make sure the playground monitors hadn’t caught on to their underground swingset games.

 

Two little girls were kicking a soccer ball back and forth. One had an infinite amount of ribbons in her hair and was missing one of her front teeth. Both their knees were scraped and bruises littered their legs. Jellybean had been that way when she was young, too, reckless and excited, chasing after him and his friends even when he told her to go away. His heart clenched painfully. What he wouldn’t give to rewind time and keep her by his side.

 

Kicking the nostalgia as far back in its hole as he could, Jughead turned toward the map Archie had sent him, biting his lip as he tried to make out the miniscule numbers that supposedly corresponded to pods the children were in. Betty was in pod four, and Archie’s music room was just across the way from that, near the library. He hoped that his inner shy kid library senses were still active and he would be able to find it on instinct and latent fear of bullies without much need for help.

 

The library was nicer than his had been back during his elementary school days. There were actually books in the shelves, for one, instead of just half-colored in pages of falling apart paper. There was a spiral matt with colors on the ground and a few children were cuddled up together reading books. One of them kept pointing, obviously frustrated at the other, until she finally took the book from him and rolled away to read by herself. He tried to follow but she kicked out her foot and forced him away.

 

Well, he’d found the library. Now it was just a matter of finding Archie’s music room for a pep talk before he went into the belly of the beast. He kept reminding himself that he was already here and to back out now would mean he’d chanced looking like an absolute creep for no reason other than shits and giggles.

 

The music room was tucked into a back hallway, mostly out of sight and hidden if it weren’t for the giant treble clef painted out front. He suspect it might be Betty’s doing if the neat little script and other music notes surrounding it were any indication. Archie was not much of a physical artist as he was a music one. His name was scrawled in chalk near the top— _ Mr. Andrews _ —and a few handprints and hearts surrounded it. It wasn’t a surprise to Jughead that Archie was well-loved by his students; it was hard not to like someone who was a big kid at heart. Even him, with his emotions of steal, had been easily swayed by that boyish charm and excited demeanor. And probably his abs.

 

Jughead knocked once on the door, still balancing the coffee in his hands, before letting himself in. Archie was sitting amidst a sea of multicolored plastic flutes that Jughead vaguely recalled ad recorders. Perhaps the Great Recorder War of 2018 had been rehashed today. He hoped not, for both Archie and Betty’s sake.

 

“Jug, hey!” Archie beamed when he saw him, standing up to his full height. It was then Jughead realized just how dwarfed every object was in this room by his friend. Even just looking at a small mallet in his hand was one of the funnier things he’d seen all day. Everything was pint sized, but compared to the massive, brick frame of Mr. Andrews, it was laughable. “Flowers for me? You shouldn’t have! I should have told you I’m a spoken for man. My wife would be furious if she found out.”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes. “You know these aren’t for you, you dumbass.”

 

“Careful with your mouth, dude! Kids are still around, and they’re like parrots. You say one thing and it’s repeated for weeks. Today I told them it was their duty to obey by the golden rule, and for twenty minutes they just kept saying it over and over again. It’s almost as bad as when Reggie’s drunk.”

 

“Almost?”

 

“You’ve met him once, man, and that was him on his best days. He’s um… kind of a dick. Especially to Betty. Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to finally bite the bullet and ask her out?”

 

“I am! I’m planning to. That’s why I have flowers and coffee, as bribery, but I’m kind of fuc… absolutely terrified and I’m trying not to freak out again.”

 

Archie nodded in understanding, coming to place a comforting hand on Jughead’s shoulder. “Look, I get it. You don’t do things like this. It’s new and scary. I remember the first time I asked out a girl—”

 

“What in third grade?”

 

“Do you want my pep talk or not?”

 

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Tentatively.”

 

“Sure you will.” Archie rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is, I was nervous as hell when I started asking girls out. Especially Ronnie. I thought, ‘Man, no way this girl would ever go for me. She’s way out of my league. Pretty, smart, classy, and from a big city, too.’ She was everything. She’s still everything, but now I don’t have this perfect image of her in my head anymore. Now we’re used to each other and I know she gets snappy when she hasn’t eaten and she’s way too stubborn for her own good. She loves arguing and she loves being right, so I’ve learned to just ride that wave unless I really don’t agree. You have to get out of your head and not look at Betty like she’s this unobtainable thing. She’s a real life person with flaws like you and me.”

 

Jughead frowned and nudged him. “Wise words, Archie Andrews. I admit, when I saw your big, meaty hands trying to put together a bunch of plastic flutes, I had my doubts that you would be able to make me feel better about this. Kudos to you for proving me wrong.”

 

“I do what I can. Do you get what I’m saying, though?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, and I can’t actually believe these words are leaving my mouth right now, but you’re right. Betty’s amazing and I think I’m trash, but she still likes me. She tolerates my presence and I think maybe even wants to be around me sometimes. So she has to see something in me. And worst case scenario, she says no and I go lay under a set of train tracks.”

 

Archie clasped his back. “That’s the spirit! You know, kind of. Go get her, before Kevin actually implodes trying to keep the secret.”

 

“Aye aye, Captain.”

 

The walk to Betty’s classroom was simultaneously the longest and shortest experience of his life. Every step felt like he was dragging his legs through cement. A few kids bumped into him, but he tried his best to step out of the way of their tiny, excited feet.

 

Her door was easy to spot, and not just because of the large overhanging that said ‘Ms. Cooper’ at the top. It was complete with a giant Christmas wreath she had made out of green, white, and red tissue paper a few nights ago at his apartment. She had sculpted the red into poinsettias and put little pinpoints of gold paint to act as their flower stamen. There were lights lining the doorway that flashed in festive golds and whites and a construction paper snowman held a sign welcoming him to Classroom 43.

 

Little snowflakes with names were taped to the doors as well, each with the name of the student who had spent their time cutting it out. Their names were messy and not always even, but he could tell by the careful placement of the tape that their creations meant the world to Betty. They always did. She talked all the time about her students, the ones she loved, the ones that infuriated her, the ones that were shy and sweet, and all the stories she had about watching them grow. Watching her eyes light up as she talked without care or worry of judgement was his favorite part of those moments.

 

Just as he was about to knock, the door opened up and a kid snuck through the gap. He had the tell tale sign of embarrassment flushed on his cheeks and there were still tears prickling in his eyes. It was no wonder the kid ran straight into Jughead’s legs.

 

“Sorry, Mister. I didn’t see you.” The little boy looked up at him and frowned. “You aren’t a teacher here.”

 

“I… yep that’s right. I am not a teacher here. But I know a teacher here, your teacher, and I had something I wanted to give her.”

 

“Oh.” He nodded in understanding. “Are you the friend that makes Miss Cooper smile? Sometimes when I stay inside at recess she looks at her phone and smiles at it a lot, like how my mom smiles at her phone when dad texts her.”

 

“Oh. Well. Um. Thank you.” That was certainly an interesting revelation that helped ease some of the fears that had bubbled up on the short walk here. He was about to say goodbye, open the door and greet Betty, when the child spoke again.

 

“She’s sad today. I don’t know why, but she’s really sad. You should go in there and make her happy.” And then, as an afterthought, he added, “Please and thank you.”

 

Jughead smiled down at him and ruffled his loose blonde hair. “I’ll certainly do my best. Now you run off. To your parents probably. Or wherever small children go when they leave school. A barn, right? You go to a barn? They keep all of you in one giant barn before class starts the next morning.”

 

“No silly! I go home! Bye bye, Mister Cooper!” The kid smiled and waved before running down the hall.

 

Mr. Cooper. Well. That certainly didn’t have an all-too-terrible ring to it. He tucked that thought away for later—much later, after he had successfully asked Betty out on a date and managed to not make a complete fool of himself in the process. That kind of later.

 

“Betty?” Jughead opened the door. “I come as a surprise—” 

 

He stopped dead in his tracks when he met her eyes. She was crying, hunched by her desk sobbing into her thighs, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks. This was off to a wonderful start.

 

“Wow, okay, right, let me just.” He set the flowers and the coffee on one of the desks and rushed to her side. He pulled Betty into his lap, holding her close to him. Comfort was not one of his strong suits. It never had been, but he hoped the hand he tangled in her hair and the gentleness of his hums would help ease the sobs she choked out. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Betty. Shhh. I’m right here.”

 

Jughead didn’t know how long it took, how many sobs she heaved, how many times she apologized into one of his few nice work shirts that she was ruining it with stains, but eventually she started to calm down. Betty stayed in his lap, clinging to him tightly for fear that if he unwrapped his arms from her she might fall apart all over again. It was a sweet intimacy he had never experienced before. It was different from their flirtations, or the easy nights they spent cutting coupons and critiquing old journal articles. In some ways, it felt a lot more open and honest, her heart on full display in front of him.

 

He had seen her cry once in their friendship and that had been in pain. She was slicing up a pie to serve during one of the potlucks and the knife had gone right into her finger. Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her hand to ease some of the pain. But after a single tear fluttered down her eyelashes, it had been all business, wrapping her finger in a purple band aid before turning back to the dessert at hand. He had been in awe of her then and perhaps he was now, too. Even when she cried, Betty was gorgeous, an angel who’d been hurt and sat before him with a bleeding, exposed heart. He’d let her cry until she had no more tears left in her if that’s what it took.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, smearing her mascara across the back of her hand. “I look like an absolute mess right now. You came to surprise me with flowers and coffee, like you knew I was having the worst day. I don’t know how you do it, Juggie. It’s like you’re my guardian angel.”

 

He scoffs, placing a kiss to her forehead. “Hardly. I’ve just got that patent Jones luck, which involves me being able to find misery constantly. It’s like I’ve got some built-in, internal radar for this sort of thing. I sense distress and my spidey sense go haywire.”

 

Betty giggled despite herself. “And you make me laugh. I’m sorry. I ruined your shirt and whatever surprise this was supposed to be.”

 

“The shirt can be washed. Probably. You’ll have to show me how, but I’m sure it can be. And I wasn’t doing anything more than wanting to surprise you with a little sunshine. I caught wind from a little bird that daisies were someone’s favorite. Good timing that you’re down. Which you can talk about, if you want. You don’t have to, no pressure, I value my secrets and privacy too, so if you just want to keep crying that’s totally cool with me, but know the floor is open to also bitching.”

 

“You should watch your mouth on school property, Jug. The flowers are gorgeous, by the way. So thank you. I’m mortified that I’m crying in my classroom, but I’m glad you were the one who found me instead of someone else. They already think I should be taking emergency family leave because of everything that’s been happening, so I’m sure I’d be forced out if they saw me breaking down next to my desk.”

 

“And everything being…?”

 

Betty sighed and looked down at her split ends. She plucked at a few of them, obviously dissatisfied by how much of a mess the crying had made her artful curls. He dared not compliment how nice her hair looked down today during such a somber moment, but he tucked the knowledge away like he always did when it came to her many gorgeous faces, so he could draw upon it for inspiration when the time called for it. Ever since she had become his muse the words were coming out faster than he could have ever dreamed. There were hiccups now and again, as there always were, but the inspiration roadblock he’d encountered when he first moved into the apartment complex was slowly withering away.

 

“Do you remember that night that we got really drunk at your apartment?”

 

_ How could I forget you in just my shirt, pole dancing for me in my own home? I’ve thought about it a few hundred dozen times in the shower just within the past week. _

 

He bit his tongue and nodded. “Yeah I do.”

 

“Do you remember what I told you about my family?”

 

Ah, yes. The cult sister, the dead brother-in-law, and the fracturing family dynamic. It wasn’t exactly his life story, but the crumbling of small town America was something he was intimately familiar with, especially when it involved the disintegration (or perhaps catastrophic implosion) of close relationships.

 

“I remember this information vaguely. But you didn’t get into too much detail about it.”

 

“Well it got worse. Kind of. Or maybe it didn’t. I don’t know.” Betty sighed and rest her head against his shoulder, cuddling into the crook of his neck. Jughead kept one hand on her back, tracing slow and steady circles to match the ones he drew with his other hand, fingers laced between hers. “I don’t know anymore.”

 

“Okay. How about we talk it out? You just start throwing things out at me and maybe you’ll feel better just to release it all into the ether.”

 

“So my sister joined that cult. It’s this thing called The Farm, of course it sounds absolutely insane, but she says it’s helped her find spiritual peace. Her and Jason, her husband, were getting involved it when he died, but after that she went full spiral into it. Which is fine, whatever makes her happy as long as she’s not sacrificing babies or whatever it is other cults do, but then she gets my mother into it. My mother! My mother is Alice Cooper and she has never once in her entire life relaxed about anything. And now she’s drinking oolong tea and telling me that the reason I feel like a failure is because I’m not in touch with myself and the spirit around me. She shipped me crystals the other night, Jug. Crystals. My mother once told me, when I was six, that getting your fortune told was a load of hokey crack made up by desperate vagabonds. She literally called them vagabonds. I had to look it up in my dictionary when I went to my room. And now she’s meditating with crystals and mixing special blend teas! Apparently some guy named Edgar Evernever runs the cult and she’s attached.”

 

Jughead wasn’t sure how to process that kind of information dump. Sure, he was the one who had opened it up into the air, but  _ my mom is in a cult and I don’t know what to do about it _ is a heavy weight to trudge through. He pulled her closer and gave her hand a squeeze so she knew he was there, listening, patient, until she wanted him to speak.

 

“She’s always told me I’m wasting my life. Always. She hates that I’m a teacher. She hates that I live in a ratty little apartment complex with my “delinquent” friends around me. She’s never been happy with anything I’ve ever done, but now it’s like whiplash. At least before I knew how to predict her scolding. Now I’m just confused and disoriented all the time because of her cult nonsense. And they’re both talking about moving into The Farm with Juniper and Dagwood, Polly’s twins, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see them anymore once they do. Only people in The Farm are allowed at The Farm or some garbage. I was just up there and everything had seemed normal. Grieving, but normal, and now it’s an absolute mess. I don’t even know what to expect. And then! And then, to make things worse, she sends me this text today to tell me she’s selling the house. The house that I grew up in. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it upsets me because she always said she was going to give that house to Polly or I to raise our kids in. But now that Edgar fucking Evernever says that she can’t hang onto material possessions that drag her down, she’s selling it! My house!”

 

“Jesus, Betty.” Jughead runs a hand through her hair to help her calm down. He can hear from the way her voice shakes that she’s edging on a panic attack, and he worries about her when it comes to thinks like that. “Deep breaths. What your mom did is shitty and messed up and I’m sorry for it, but you need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself and remembering to breathe, okay?”

 

With his help, she started to calm down, her hands stopping their shaking, uncurling from fists and freeing his fingers from her viper-tight grasp. He stretched them without complaint so the focus could be on her slowly working through her pain.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered finally, placing a kiss on his cheek. “For caring so much about me. For being here when I needed you and you didn’t even know I needed you to be here. It means the world to me, Juggie. I’m so sorry. I bet the coffee’s all cold now and you brought it here just for us.”

 

“Sometimes cold coffee is still good coffee. That’s the test to see if it’s truly well made.” He tries to hide the blush on his cheeks, but he could feel is spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down his chin, like her lips had bloomed a blossom on his cheeks. “I’m thinking maybe some food might be in order. And ice cream. Ice cream cures everything. I’ll even let you put gummy bears in your mint chocolate chip without mocking you for it.”

 

Betty giggled. “Well, how can a girl say no to an offer like that? It’s a date.”

 

He helped her stand up, turning away like she asked when she wiped the mascara from underneath her eyes and reapplied a few coats just to put her mind at ease. When she was ready, she picked up the flowers and her cup of coffee before hooking her arm in his.

 

“How did you get here, anyway? I thought your bike was in the shop.”

 

“Subway. And then I walked.”

 

“Jughead Jones, notorious people hater, braved the New York subway for me? I am utterly and unbelievably flattered.”

 

“Trust me when I say you should be. I was tucked between one girl who was listening to emo rock so loudly I could practically hear my teen angst oozing out of it’s tightly-wound box in my soul, and a man who needed a crash course in deodorant and a bigger suit.”

 

“Ew. Lucky you, my car’s parked out in the lot and we can take that to our favorite little pizza place. Then maybe we swing by the Stone Cold Creamery and pick up a pint of my absolutely delicious gummy bear ice cream and whatever concoction you come up with for the day.”

 

“Reese’s in chocolate fudge ice cream isn’t weird, Betty. It’s never been weird. Maybe you’re just weird.”

 

“Maybe we both are.”

 

Jughead smiled down at her, watching as she affectionately touched the petals of her daisies and straightened the bow on the vase. “Yeah. Maybe we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......I promise next chapter will make it all worth it?


	8. Poolside Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow the Lodge Luxury Apartments pool has been approved to open again and Veronica does what she does best, throws a party. Lucky for Jughead, Betty's more than willing to pull him along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! You may have spotted that at last we have a chapter count on this fic. I've finally finished planning and we're officially a little more than halfway through thanks to this one. It's been a wild ride and I'm so glad you're all enjoying it. I know this has been a long awaited chapter and I wanted to apologize for it taking me so long, but I was dealing with a lot of real life. I hope you can forgive me. With that, I don't know how long it'll take until I can write the next chapter. It's partially written, and I like to have two chapters at a time written and I barely have the next one. I just wanted to get this out because it's been a long time and I thought you deserved it! So i hope you guys can be patient with me! Thank you and I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> As always love my betas @bettscoopr and @indiebughead!

When the news came out via one of Veronica Lodge’s signature emails that the pool at the apartment complex was actually fixed, Jughead opened his phone to be greeted with a CC on twenty emails assuring everyone that this wasn’t a joke, it was very much real, and this week’s potluck would be held poolside to celebrate. He had asked, once, why exactly the pool was closed only to be greeted with varying and disconcerting results. Archie just shrugged and gave a wobbly hand gesture. Kevin said he was sure someone had been murdered in it, or drowned, or overdosed, and they needed a lot of permits to reopen the pool after something like that. Betty just said it needed a cleaning. A deep, thorough, and intensive cleaning.

 

The grand pool reopening bash would have all the regulars in attendance if the RSVP list was any indication. He’d been getting harassed for the last two days by both Archie and Betty about coming. After two hits and a few sips of wine to calm his nerves about social functions, he had agreed to it, hoping that this was a good chance to finally make a final move on Betty. Or at least make it so clear what his intentions were with a spectacular fail, that they would be forced to sit down and have a proper conversation about the trajectory of whatever the fuck they were going. Jughead was not normally a ‘labels’ kind of guy, but when it came to him and her he craved a word to pin to the anxious fluttering that always lingered in the pit of his stomach.

 

And since attempting to burn those feelings away with alcohol had not worked, he was doing his best to follow through on Archie and Kevin’s advice. Despite the spectacular failure of his first attempt at Operation ‘Ask Betty on a Date,’ Jughead would dare to say he was feeling confident. Their connection was undeniable even with his perpetual cynicism. He was excited every time they crossed paths in the hall, and so was she. They met up to clip coupons after school on a regular basis and they had spent nearly two hours tucked in a booth across from each other a few days ago talking about everything under the sun. Kevin had tried to explain to him that this was, in all likelihood, what normal people would call a date. But stubborn Jughead would not be satisfied until he heard it straight from the horse’s mouth that she was interested and willing to pursue a romantic relationship with him. His first romantic relationship. Ever. In the history of his whole life. He was honestly kind of starting to feel a bit lame about the whole thing.

 

Not that Betty ever made him feel lame. The few times they’d dared to broach the subject of previous potential pairings she had assured him that there was nothing wrong with him. He was a perfectly normal guy—up for debate, but her assurance was sweet all the same—who just needed the right circumstances to fall in love. It was crazy to think the right circumstances involved a shitty apartment complex owned by a disgraced-but-still-affluent socialite, her music teacher husband, a weed-growing tattoo artist, her disgraced-and-no-longer-affluent socialite wife, whatever the hell Moose and Midge were, a dungeon master YouTuber, and the prettiest girl he’d ever had the pleasure of receiving a smile from. Sometimes he was only half convinced this wasn’t some fever dream he was having on Sweet Pea’s couch after eating spoiled Chinese food leftovers.

 

**Betty:**

You’re coming to the pool party, right? The theme is tropical paradise!

 

Her text was accompanied with two pineapple emojis, something he would have found annoying from anyone else but endearing from her. Currently, he was huddled over a copy of a brief Sierra needed editing. His secretarial duties had slowly been morphing into something more along the lines of his degree and he was feeling a strange sense of pride every time she handed him another challenging task. His boss seemed to trust him, maybe enough to offer him a full-time position after this temp work was finished. That was the end goal, anyway. Well, not the very end goal, but one of the baby end goals along the way to the bigger picture, which maybe in his wildest fantasies involved Betty proposing to him in Central Park on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

 

**Jughead:**

Does Veronica throw a party for everything?

 

**Betty:**

Mostly yes

Last year she threw Reggie’s dog a first birthday party

The ceremony was long-winded but beautiful

And the dog-friendly carrot cake wasn’t terrible.

 

**Jughead:**

I refuse to believe anything called a dog-friendly carrot cake is not terrible

 

**Betty:**

So picky haha!

But are you coming tomorrow? Say yes! I’m making kabobs. Pineapples, steak, mushrooms… And Toni’s promised to treat us to her bartender skills! Her sex on the beach is wonderful

 

He bit back the urge to say something borderline bro-esque like  _ I could show you sex on the beach that’s everything.  _ That was more Archie’s tactic towards ladies than his. Also, it would be a lie. Jughead could show her nothing about sex because that’s all he’d ever had. Aside from a few clandestine sessions with his hand that had upped in frequency ever since Betty’s increased appearances in his life.

 

**Jughead:**

Did you say kabobs? I’m in.

 

**Betty:**

I thought that might work. Quickest way to a Jug’s heart a through his stomach haha <3 Help me carry my things over tomorrow pretty pls?

I’ll make it worth your while

First choice of the skewers off the grill

 

Jughead was not a stupid man. He would not tell her that she didn’t need to bribe him to help out, even if it would make him look good in the Betty books, simply because he was not going to do anything to jeopardize his chance to nab food before anyone else. Their usual crowd was a bunch of greedy gremlins raised in barns with no respect for grill dibs. Nothing had any sanctity anymore, honestly.

 

**Jughead:**

Done and done. I’d do worse things for a price like that

 

**Betty:**

Remind me to never get between you and something delicious! I’m just glad you’re coming. I know the potlucks aren’t your scene but I wanted to spend some time with you this weekend

 

It was like the universe liked watching them dance around each other. Every chance Jughead had to try and admit to Betty just how deeply his feelings ran, something would come up and either cut the conversation short or stop it from happening entirely. When work wasn’t calling him late, she was dealing with familial drama of the worst variety. A few nights ago she was supposed to come over and instead texted him a rain check with a vague explanation about her sister and her mother fighting. That was a situation he did not envy.

 

Not that his home situation was any better. Gladys had called a few days ago asking if Jughead had heard from FP lately. He hadn’t, because he really only ever did if the money FP got from the government after his work injury didn’t cover the liquor store runs, or he wanted to shake him down for information on the whereabouts of the two female Jones clan members. He had overheard Jellybean screaming about something in the background but their conversation was cut short. When he called back, the line was dead. It was only after a text from Jellybean’s secret prepaid phone assuring him that everything was alright that he was able to calm down. Sometimes family was intense and insane. He was glad to be in New York where most of it stayed the hell away from him, aside from the occasional aftershocks of a familial implosion.

 

**Jughead:**

Excited to see you too. Missed you

 

**Betty:**

Missed you more <3 <3 <3

 

At least, if nothing else, Jughead could take solace in the fact that their flirting had pushed the boundaries of subtlety and become blatant enough that not even on his grumpiest of days could he ignore it. It was comforting to know that Betty liked him and maybe even wanted him in the same ways that he wanted her. Not that he was picky in those ways. He would take her cuddled up under some comfy sheets watching Netflix crime shows or wrapped around the pole in his living room for round two of her show. Anything, as long as it involved Betty Cooper and him breathing the same air.

 

(Though, if he was honest, he kind of hoped it would eventually evolve into their sharing a lot more than air as they tangled up together on someone’s couch and he got to see how soft those lips really were. Probably very. He’d seen her apply ChapStick enough to know that. And that her lips would probably taste like cherries.)

 

**Jughead:**

Genuinely impossible but whatever helps you sleep at night Betts

 

Their banter continued until he fell asleep despite the bright blue glow of the screen on his face, so enthralled by dreams of sugared pineapples and cherry lips that he woke up borderline pleasant even before his mandatory morning coffee. The pool party wasn’t until one so he had plenty of time to work on a few things Sierra wanted done before he forced himself into a tank top and swimming trunks just for a chance at finally asking Betty out on a date.

 

Dating was complicated. Were these the kind of hoops everyone jumped through just to wind up at the movies together? How was anyone in a fully functioning relationship? This all seemed like an ungodly amount of work and he still wasn’t completely 100% sure why he was putting all the effort in. (That was, of course, a lie, because he knew exactly why he was doing all of this every time he got even one look at Betty bathed in the early morning glow. It was a sight he wanted burned into his retinas forever.)

 

With a little more than an hour before the party started, Jughead’s phone rang. He was disappointed when the face that popped up on the screen was not the gorgeous blonde but instead the blurry, drunken photo Archie had sent him one night that Jughead has saved for blackmail reasons. He picked it up, sliding the ‘answer call button’ to the right.

 

“What’s up, Arch?”

 

“Hey man, can you come help set up? Ronnie’s being… um… particular about everything, but she ran off to go get ready with Betty so I’m kind of lost. I got tangled in the fairy lights she wanted to put up and I need a hand to hold them up.”

 

“I promised Betty I’d help her carry down the kabobs, but if she’s with Veronica, she can probably help her. You’re a lucky guy, Andrews, that I like you, because you’re making me miss out on first kabob pick to help your sorry ass. Didn’t your dad work construction? How are fairy lights a challenge to you?”

 

He could practically hear Archie roll his eyes on the other end, huffing indignantly as the clutter of something metal rung out in the distance. “He wasn’t like an electrician or something. Speaking of Betty, though, how’s everything going with that? You ask her out yet?”

 

“To be continued. That’s a complicated story. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be down. Sound good?”

 

“Yeah, man, sounds good. Just get here soon so my wife doesn’t kill me. I’m starting to get afraid of the tiny straw umbrellas. She keeps swinging them around and she’s way too good at it.”

 

“That sounds terrifying.”

 

“Yeah. She’s my wife.”

 

After apologizing to Betty—she forgave him, naturally, because she was the living embodiment of an angel—Jughead went downstairs to help Archie fix whatever mess he had created. The pool didn’t look half bad. The water was clean and clear, a blue so bright he thought he might become 60 percent chlorine instead of water after one swim, but it was a far cry from the green muck he had once stared outside his window to gaze at. He spotted a few new spots of tile around the edge of the water. He couldn’t blame Veronica for trying to make the shithole just a little bit fancier. He might even thank her for it.

 

The pool wasn’t a bad size. It was bigger than Jughead had imagined it to be, and there was a hot tub tucked into the side that he was sure would get used the most by Reggie and his horn dog determination to get laid at every function the Andrews hosted. There were a few fairy lights hanging out above the cabana, but Archie looked like he might start ripping them down and eating them out of frustration. A funny image, sure, but Jughead sort of felt sorry for him.

 

“Thank God,” Archie groaned, grateful when his eyes finally rested on his friend. “You’re here.”

 

“That’s the first time someone’s ever said that when I walked into the room. Let me take that from you, buddy. You can hand me the nails and we’ll get this thing done before the event starts. You know, probably.”

 

“I’ll take probably before I take her ringing my neck for not getting it finished at all. I was ready to give up.”

 

Jughead laughed. “I am a man of true talent. And that single talent is hanging fairy lights. Nail and hammer?”

 

It wasn’t a surprise when the conversation shifted towards Betty. If I wasn’t a text message from Kevin asking him how long it would be until he asked out Miss Cooper, it was from Archie. He understood that Archie and her had been bestfriends since they were kids, but it was starting to get frustrating, being constantly nagged for not doing things exactly like had been expected.

 

“So… about Betty?”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes and popped the nail into the drywall. “What about Betty?”

 

“How’s all of that going?”

 

“It’s going fine. I tried asking her out that day I told you guys I was going to, but she’d had a pretty rough day and I didn’t want to be an asshole. We’ve been hanging out, but today I think I’m going to finally try to ask her on an official date. Just a straightforward Betty-Cooper-Can-I-Take-You-on-a-Date type of thing.”

 

“Nice. Sounds good. Just make sure to do it away from everyone, otherwise it’ll be… uh… loud? Obnoxious. I don’t know, the people in this place are just nosy.”

 

Jughead snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

 

Once all the decorations were put up, people finally began arriving. Kevin was first, never one to be fashionably late, preferring to arrive at any party immediately so he wouldn’t miss out on any of the excitement that happened. “So how is my favorite beanie-wearing romantic cripple today?”

 

“You know, just for that I’m going to be a pain in the ass during our next Gryphons and Gargoyles session.”

 

“Bold of you to assume you aren’t already an asshole, Jones.”

 

Archie’s eyes lit up and he moved a bit closer. “You know, if you ever needed another member I could tag along.”

 

“You play G&G?” Kevin raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in disbelief, exchanging a look of skepticism with Jughead.

 

“Well, no, but I’d totally want to try. It’d be cool to hang and do something that doesn’t involve getting wasted at a nightclub with Reggie. I think I’m getting old. I can’t even do a keg stand anymore.”

 

Kevin cackled, clasping Archie’s shoulder. “Poor frat boy. He’s lot all his magic in his mid twenties. Well, if you promise to behave you’re more than welcome to join our merry band of disasters. Toni and Cheryl play, and I’ve convinced Fangs to come around for a session so you can meet him.”

 

“Fangs? You two that serious now?” Jughead had to admit he was excited about the prospect. Kevin deserved someone who wasn’t a complete hot mess, someone who wasn’t gaslighting him to keep him his perpetual fuck buddy under the same roof as his girlfriend.

 

“‘Serious’ isn’t the word I’d used for our trysts, but we’re something and I’m having fun. Even if my fun involves sleeping anywhere but in the apartment I pay rent in every night.”

 

Archie frowned. Always the good boy, no matter what, he offered a shoulder rub of encouragement to Kevin. “Man, I never thought Moose would be suck a dick about this. I’m sorry, Kev, I feel bad for even introducing you guys in the first place. If I had known…”

 

“But you didn’t. And I was desperate for anything. But this whole thing has made me realize that I am a catch who deserves to be treated like it. Now, I think we should move on from the love life talk, unless we’re going to get an update from Jughead.”

 

Jughead groaned, looking away and grumbling, “It’s a work in progress.”

 

“Isn’t it always?”

 

People milled around and Jughead waited impatiently for Betty’s arrival. When she did finally walk through those doors with Veronica and Cheryl by her side, the only thing he could notice was the softness of the light reflecting off her skin and the gentle waves of her hair, free for one day from the eternal prison of her ponytail. If he were any older, he might have had a heart attack on the spot. Honestly, he thought he still might have one, staring at those curves so obviously on display in front of him, wrapped in nothing but the thin fabric of her swimsuit. He could see Kevin and Archie laughing at him from afar and wanted to be offended. Wanted to, but couldn’t, because he was sure he looked like a floundering fish as Betty approached the spot where he was perched on the pool’s edge.

 

“Hey,” she said softly, brushing her hair back behind her hair.

 

“Hi.”

 

The coldness of the water was a distraction from the hazy thrum of his brain trying to put together something to say. Just as one single intelligent thought started making its way to the surface, he felt a hand grab hold of his leg underwater.

 

“Get a room,” Archie teased before yanking Jughead roughly into the pool.

 

A loud splash followed, along with the burn in his eyes from the chlorinated water. He was going to kill Archie. He wondered what kind of flowers Veronica would be more likely to accept as a ‘sorry I murdered your husband but he started it’ gift.

 

When he resurfaced and swam to the stairs, diligently ignoring Archie’s wolf whistles, Betty was standing there with a towel for him, smiling brightly. “Want me to help you get him back later?”

 

“Music to my ears, Betts. Has anyone told you how amazing you are?”

 

“Not today, so I appreciate the confidence boost. Is that water even safe? I know V said it was, but I’ll be honest in admitting I’m a bit skeptical.”

 

“See for yourself.” He smiled brightly before scooping up enough water to splash her. She recoiled and managed to look genuinely angry for a split second, but then shook her head and reached into the pool to splash him back. 

 

“Jerk. I’m being serious. I don’t want to get anything infected.”

 

“I mean, it can’t be worse than the time Sweets and I played in a leech-infested pool by the river. We were sick for weeks after.”

 

Betty grimaced and took a seat, cautiously setting her feet into the water. “Yikes. That does not sound fun by any means.”

 

“It wasn’t. But at least in hindsight it gives me something to rip into him about for the next twenty years.” He kicked his feet idly in the water, taking a deep breath. “How are things with your family, Betts? I know it hasn’t been great.”

 

She sighed and traced thin lines where the water met tile with every rippling wave that collided around her ankles. “It’s fine, Juggie, you’re sweet for asking. It’ll never be okay or great, but it’s fine right now. Thank you for caring enough about me to ask.”

 

“Sometimes we’re all so busy wrapped up in ourselves that we forget to pay attention to the people around us who are hurting just as badly. We’re all a little bit selfish by nature. It’s part of the human condition, don’t you think?”

 

“You could say that. I just wish the human condition didn’t also involve my mother continually comparing me to my sister who is just so much better in every conceivable way.”

 

“Hey, that’s not fair or true. I don’t know a lot about your sister, but I’ll be honest, I think stressed-out-but-happy elementary school teacher is way better than creepy cult enthusiast. But maybe I’m the one with screwed up morals.”

 

Betty laughed and her hand brushed his, then landed more firmly on his fingers where they gripped the side of the pool. She looked so beautiful then he nearly forgot to breath. The sun reflected off the blue of her eyes, which matched the clear, crystalline beauty of the pool water, chlorine be damned. Jughead smiled up at her and curled their fingers together.

 

“Thank you, Juggie, for always being so supportive no matter what. I’m not sure I’m used to that, so it means a lot when I get it.”

 

“Fair is fair. I don’t know if I’d even be sane or fed without your dedication to helping me clip coupons and apply for jobs. You, um, well… You’re amazing, Betty Cooper. People really should tell you that more. And you’re so much stronger than all the white noise around you. Whatever your mom is saying, don’t listen to her. Be proud of who you are. You’re an amazing girl to know.”

 

She sniffled, beaming down at him. “Don’t make me cry in public, Jughead Jones, or I’ll drown you in this pool.”

 

“Sorry!” he laughed. “Sorry. No more then. I just wanted to you to know. And also….”

 

“Also?” When he stayed quiet, unsure of how best to proceed, Betty frowned and squeezed his hand. “What? Juggie, what is it?”

 

“Also, I wanted to ask if…”

 

The volleyball hit the back of his head too hard for it to have been an accident. Whatever he was going to say was quickly replaced by a string of expletive that would have made even his drunkard father blush. He spun around to see Archie sheepishly waving at him.

 

“Sorry to interrupt, but Ronnie and I just wanted to see if you wanted to play duos water volleyball with us.”

 

Veronica, for her part, did not look even a shred embarrassed to have interrupted what could have been a big moment. “We’ve already beaten Moose and Midge and Cheryl and Toni, so we need a little competition. What do you say?”

 

Unlike most men, competition was not usually Jughead’s trigger word, but judging by the way Betty’s eyes lit up and she jumped immediately into the water, there would be no way he was getting out of this one. 

 

The blonde beamed and grabbed the ponytail holder from her wrist to tie up her hair. “Game on, V. Besides, Jughead has to regain his honor after getting nailed with a volleyball.”

 

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Jughead rubbed the back of his head. “I think I’m going to wake up concussed tomorrow morning.”

 

“I’m not sure you can wake up with a concussion. The whole thing about them is you’re kind of not supposed to sleep because you might not wake up.” Jughead should have been more surprised than he was about Archie’s knowledge regarding sports injuries, but he just quirked an eyebrow at his friend. This was the guy who had broken two fingers a month ago after dropping the granite countertop Veronica wanted in their kitchen on his hand, afterall. What does he know about avoiding bodily damage? But this isn’t the first time Archie’s recited a helpful tidbit that happened to be true.

 

“Archie Andrews, the pinnacle of medical knowledge. Remind me again how many times you’ve been nearly hospitalized this month?”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes, “Boys, boys, you’re both pretty. Now stop flirting with each other and play the game. As an apology for nailing you in the head, Jughead, you and Betty can serve first.”

 

“And because you’re probably going to lose, you need the advantage,” Archie teased.

 

Jughead had never seen Betty’s eyes go so dark so quickly, her posture shifting from sweet simplicity to woman warrior. It was terrifying. And very hot. But mostly terrifying. She turned to the redhead with a saccharine smile and said, “We’ll see who’s talking smack after I completely obliterate you.”

 

“Oh yeah? You willing to bet on that?”

 

“You bet your ass I am, Andrews.”

 

Veronica sighed, turning to Jughead with a vague expression of boredom on her features. “They do this. Every time there’s a competition they do this. I think it’s because they’re basically brother and sister. It’s like it’s in their blood or something. One of them has to be the winner, so they make a wager.”

 

“How often does Betty win?”

 

“My girl B has a 95 percent win rate, but the one time Archie came out on top he hasn’t forgotten about. The entire apartment complex will never live that ping pong tournament down. Betty refuses to play anymore.”

 

Jughead laughed, watching as the two arranged the rules of the bet. Betty spun around and waved her hands towards them. “Come on. Stop slacking and let’s get ready to play!”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain. Jones reporting for volleyball duty. Fair warning, I’m garbage at any and all sports.”

 

“It’s okay, I’m good enough for both of us.”

 

She was, in fact, good enough for both of them, but Jughead was pleased to find he could at least hold his own as well, if not better, than Veronica did. It was mostly Betty and Archie in the game. Sometimes they’d argue about calls and Cheryl would have to step in to give her expert opinion on whether the ball had landed out of bounds or not. It was fun, more fun than Jughead had experienced in a long time. With work eating away most of his time, it was nice to have a competitive game of water volleyball to just relax and enjoy.

 

Maybe “relax” wasn’t the right word when he had Betty on one side and Archie on the other, the two of them shouting competitive taunts at one another. So far Betty had almost broken Archie’s nose twice with a hard pitch of the ball over the net. Veronica had threatened to end the game more than once but couldn’t bring herself to when her best friend and husband were having such a good time.

 

“Game point.” Betty beamed at Jughead. “Thanks for being such a good partner. All we need is this last one and I get bragging rights for a year.”

 

“We agreed on six months, Betty!” Archie huffed, indignant.

 

“Well I changed my mind and it’s a year. Plus you call me the forever champion of volleyball. A deal's a deal, Arch. Unless you’re too chicken and just want to forfeit now.”

 

“I’d rather die.”

 

It was a close game. Veronica and Archie managed to sneak in two more points before Jughead finally spiked the ball over the net, water splashing over everyone in a climatic moment of victory. Betty shouted with joy and threw her arms around his neck, sending him stumbling backwards, barely managing to catch himself on the edge of the pool. She smiled up at him and let her hands travel up until she cupped his jawline.

 

A single realization dawned on him then, so loud that the clarity nearly blinded him. She was going to kiss him. Betty Cooper was going to kiss him, Jughead Jones, of all people, in front of the entire apartment complex and he all he could think about was if he’d brushed his teeth this morning or not. Her eyes darted down to his parted lips and he watched her lick the dryness on her own away before pressing closer to him. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes waiting for what it felt like he’d been after for forever.

 

Of course, it never came. Just when he felt the softness of her hands against his bare chest, he heard Kevin shout her and Archie’s names, asking for help on the grill. There was a delighted lilt that almost made Jughead wonder if this sick interruption wasn’t a planned form of torture for him. When she pulled back, he missed the warmth of her pressed against him and the lingering pressure of her eyes on his body. He had never been particularly confident in himself, but the way Betty looked at him sometimes made him feel like he was sculpted from marble by Da Vinci himself, deserving of an honorary place in a famous British museum. 

 

He watched her go, probably letting his eyes linger on her curves longer than they should have. But he felt good. Better than good. Betty Cooper had been planning on kissing him before Kevin pulled her away for cooking, that much he was sure of. And not by accident, either, like in some messy romantic comedy, but a true, genuine desire to have her lips meet with his. He suddenly wished there had been more late-night practice sessions with his pillows.

 

Jughead knew how to kiss about as well as he knew how to do most romantic things. The theory was there, memorized thanks to movies, books, or television shows he’d seen crank out the same formulaic love story. There was some practice, loosely here and there, but not enough to make him feel like he was well prepared for the moment they did finally kiss. This dating thing struck enough fear into his very core that he’d stayed up late smoking more often than not just to ease some of the anxiety that bubbled over so frequently he could make an entirely different human’s worth of anxiety out of it if he wanted to. But kissing? That was another ball game by itself.

 

His mind wandered a little father out. After kissing came everything else, all the other intimate and terrifying aspects of a relationship, and not just the physical ones. Part of him wondered how long it would take her to realize how exponentially out of his league she was. A larger part of him hoped she never would and he could spend every day trying to prove he was worthy of her. The biggest part of him realized that maybe he wouldn’t ever have to. Because Betty Cooper liked him as he was, and who was he to argue with her decisions?

 

“Jug!” Archie shouted, holding up one of the skewers. “You get first choice of my meat.”

 

“I want you to promise me you are never going to say that to me ever again.” Jughead climbed out of the pool, grabbed a beer, and took a seat.

 

“I cannot and will not.”

 

Jughead felt good here, leaning against the wall of a gazebo, watching as the people in his apartment complex good-naturedly bickered over who got the last bite of hummus and whispering about if Veronica had actually cooked anything to contribute to her own party. Toni was passing out drinks like it was her job until everyone was sufficiently buzzed. Jughead was on is second beer when he spotted a plate of Betty’s chocolate chip cookie brownies and hoped there would be enough left for him by the end of the potluck.

 

After everyone ate their fill of Archie’s meat, Betty snuck close to him as he peered at the dessert table and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before turning back to her drink. He watched her chase after the straw with her tongue. It scooped up bits of salt decorating the edge of her glass until she finally managed to take a sip of the strawberry margarita Cheryl had insisted upon. Jughead hadn’t had the courage to try them himself. Mixed drinks were dangerous, full of sugar, and almost always made him sick, but they didn’t look half bad even by those standards.

 

“There’s more at my apartment. I saved half the batch just for you, because I know you like them and these people are vultures. Vultures I love, but vultures all the same.”

 

Jughead smiled down at her. “A woman after my own heart.”

 

“I’m trying my best, aren’t I?” She giggled and picked up a pickle spear from her plate, offering it up to him. She wasn’t drunk. Neither was he. Not that he hadn’t seen them wasted in a room together before, but thinking back to that night was dangerous and he didn’t dare do it in polite company. Nevertheless, there was a pleasant buzz in the air thanks to the drinks. “Here. I’m full.”

 

Both his stomach and his heart started to sing as he took a bite of the offered food. Leave it to Betty to woo him not with words that made him blush, but with food as well. He took a bite of the offered pickle. It was sour, like they all were, but there was something sweet about her feeding it to him that made him feel a little more drunk than he did before.

 

“You look pretty tonight.” He mumbled between bites.

 

Betty blushed, the tips of her ears turning pink with her delight. “Thank you. I haven’t worn this swimsuit in forever, but Veronica said I should.”

 

“Then I’ll make sure to thank her later.”

 

He could feel everyone’s gaze on them, flickering away from their conversations to watch them like they were dogs in heat. Jughead wanted to be disgusted by himself and these blatant public displays of affection, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to be cynical. Betty was making him happy and damn whoever wanted to fight with him about that today. Maybe a little PDA was what he needed to pull his head firmly out of his ass and actually have the conversation he had been waiting to have with her all day.

 

Kevin caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow, waving his hand as nonchalantly as he could. It was a sign to get things moving along before any more distractions pulled them away from each other. He bit his lip and threw his now empty plate in the trash before turning to Betty.

 

“Hey, can I talk to you about something? Preferably away from prying eyes?”

 

“Of course, Juggie.” Betty frowned and took his hand before finishing her drink and tossing the plastic straw and cup into the recycling bin. “Come on. I know somewhere that almost no one spends time. Maybe you can finally say what you want to say without someone interrupting.”

 

“That is the dream, isn’t it? We’ll see if we can manage it.”

 

Betty led him back inside, ducking between pillars so anyone who might be trying to follow them would be distracted enough to bide them some time. He hoped that Kevin and Archie would be wise enough to give him as much time as he needed. Or rather, he hoped Kevin would notice he needed space to ask Betty the very important question he’d been trying to ask her for weeks and that Archie would just follow Kevin’s lead and leave them the hell alone.

 

They found themselves tucked into the back corner of the hallway, under a flight of stairs he didn’t even know existed. There was a cleaning pantry to his left and another broken elevator to his right. The wallpaper border was peeling and the white paint that had been hastily used to patch small holes in the wall was chipping away. Everything about Lodge Luxury Apartments was falling apart at the seams and he’d found himself utterly in love with it regardless.

 

Maybe it wasn’t the building. Anyone with half a brain would know to steer clear of the one-inspection-away-from-condemnation hazard. But to him, and to everyone else who lived there, it was home. It was home because he had made friends he hadn’t expected to, with people that seemed so completely his antithesis that it was startling how well they got along. It was home because he got to play G&G with Kevin and take shots with Archie. Mostly, it was home because Betty was here, smiling at him even when she thought he wasn’t looking, like he was hanging the moon and the stars all for her. He would have if she were to ask.

 

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

 

“Oh. Right.” A conversation. That’s what they were out here for. A conversation. Not for him to shamelessly oogle her without judgemental glances from their mutual friends. “I um… I wanted to ask you something, I guess would be a better way of putting it.”

 

“Okay.” She smiled, pulling her lips between her teeth in a way that did awful things to his mind, rocking back and forth on her heels. “And what’s that?”

 

It was hard to put all his thoughts in a line, to figure out how exactly he wanted to say this. It had seemed easier before, during his first attempt, when there were flowers and a well-thought-out plan, even though it had ended in utter failure. His fear probably wasn’t minimized by just how vulnerable he was in this situation. At least the first time they’d been fully clothed. Now it wasn’t just his heart on full display, but his body too.

 

“I wanted to see if… No wait, I wanted to ask if… God, that’s not right either. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you. I think you’re amazing, Betty Cooper. I don’t know how anyone as amazing as you exists or how I got lucky enough to spend time with you, but you do and I have and I like you. I like you more than a friend, which is seriously confusing to me because I’ve never in my entire life liked anybody like that. Every second we spent time together I get excited and happy and I want to be with you, but not just like how we have been. I want to try…” He forced himself to choke out the words. No point in delaying the inevitable when he was already halfway through the confession. 

 

“I want to try taking you out on a date. I was going to ask you when I showed up at school unannounced, but you were hurting and I didn’t want to take that time away from you. I didn’t want it to feel like I was pouncing on you because you were vulnerable or anything.

 

“I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you before. I said that. I already said that and I’m rambling but I need you to understand how weird this is for me, but I’m not even terrified of it. Or maybe I am, but I’m more excited that I feel this way about you because it means that maybe I have a shot of asking you out on a date and you saying yes and seeing how this thing goes. If you want it to go anywhere. If you don’t, we can just forget this ever happened. I’ll go upstairs and light myself on fire to burn this failure from my body and we can just move on as soon as I get out of the hospital with skin grafts.”

 

She had let him speak, staying quiet for nearly the entire time. Her expression was hard to read and Jughead felt his anxiety spike again. “Please. Say something. Anything. Even ‘you’re a big dumb idiot, Jughead’ or ‘go fuck yourself, Jughead.’ Or you could slap me. Any of that would be better than this vague silence I can’t read.”

 

“You are a big dumb idiot, Jughead.” Before he could properly react, Betty had grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down against her. Their lips met harshly, teeth clanking until they melted into a rhythm that left him breathless, pinned against the wall as her tiny hands explore the planes of his chest. The kiss was soft. Sweet. Warm and hot all at once and he could hardly stand it.

 

She was patient with him, guiding him with her gentle kisses, brushing her tongue against his soft lips before letting him have a taste of her in return. Cherry chapstick. Who would have thought it. It hardly even occurred to him until a few minutes into their kiss that she had the unfortunate displeasure of getting to kiss him post pickle. Luckily, Betty didn’t seem to mind, pulling his arms until his hands sat comfortably on her waist.

 

The crackled old drywall hit his back as she pushed him further into it, but it didn’t hurt. He hardly felt a thing, other than every touch she offered him. It was like his entire body was on overdrive, so focused on every inch of Betty that the rest of the world melted into white noise around them.

 

Someone coughed, ripping them away from their own little world of bliss. Betty’s hair was disheveled, wet ponytail only half up, the rest hanging limply around her shoulders. Both their lips were red from heated kisses and he was just now realizing there were a few nail marks along his chest. Well, those were going to be hard to explain. He could hear Kevin cackling now as Archie flip-flopped between wanting to bro high five him or threaten him with a pair of BBQ tongs if anything should happen that would make Betty cry. He’d sooner shoot himself in the foot than see Betty weep, but he’d keep that close to this chest for the time being.

 

In front of them stood Cheryl and Toni, each wearing matching expressions of shock and approval. Toni’s was more approval, Cheryl’s was more shock, but both seemed pleased to find their neighbors locked in a heated kiss under the stairwell.

 

“Mon cheri, someone’s found our favorite hideaway spot. We’ll need a new one. Or bleach. Or we can call animal control and tell them that we found two monkeys picking fleas off of each other.”

 

Toni rolled her eyes and snorted. “Congrats on finally breaking ground, you two. The whole complex was starting to wonder if what was happening outside was some weird, extended foreplay. Glad to know we were right.”

 

Betty wasn’t blushing, but Jughead was sure that he was, feeling the telltale heat on his cheeks and the prickle on the tips of his ears. If anything, the girl beside him looked utterly pleased with herself. “Would you guys mind leaving us for a few minutes? I just want to talk to Jughead about something really quickly and then we’ll leave and you can have your spot back.”

 

“Ugh, fine. You have two minutes before I force you two to go mate somewhere else.” Cheryl waved them off, grabbing her wife’s hand and stopping far enough away to give the illusion of privacy. Leave it to Cheryl to find a way to eavesdrop on the conversation. No doubt she would report the entire thing back to their friends outside. Jughead wasn’t unconvinced that was why she had showed up in the first place.

 

“I like you, too,” Betty said softly, taking his hand. “If that wasn’t obvious. I want you to take me out on a date. I want to keep doing what we’re doing but something a little bit more. Because I think you’re special, Jug, and I think what we have could be pretty special together. I don’t care that you don’t have a lot of experience. I just care that you’re you. And I really want to kiss you again.”

 

Jughead beamed, feeling enough confidence to pull her closer. “Then why don’t you?”

 

Her lips were on his again and the entire world melted away. Except, of course, Cheryl’s shrill voice shouting, “I said two minutes, you heathens!”

 

Betty kissed him again anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 9: First Date Mistakes


	9. First Date Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead and Betty are finally going on their first date. What's the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, at last, I am getting back into this universe! Sorry it's been a hot minute thank you all for being patient. Thank you to my two betas @indiebughead and @bettscoopr for my sanity and continuity checks. Without them we may never know if Cheryl and Toni are girlfriends or wives within this text. AND MASSIVE THANK YOUS for all the things this fic got nominated for!
> 
> 101 Ways Nominations:  
> Multi-Chapter Overall WIP  
> Post High School  
> Supporting Cast
> 
> Peronsal nominations:  
> Creative  
> Fantasy/Sci-fi
> 
> Just, i'm flailing. I'm honest to go flailing. Learn how to vote (even if it's not for me, vote for someone!) [HERE](https://bugheadfanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/182771110366/the-voting-is-open) be an educated voter and read as many fics as you can. This is such an amazing way to support our fandom and the creative minds within it.
> 
> Without further ado

Jughead Jones had never been on a date in his entire life, unless you try and count that one time Trula Twist tricked him into meeting with her at a local diner for a study date that involved a lot less burgers and studying than he had originally imagined, but no one really does. Not even Sweet Pea, who for awhile was so determined to get Jughead laid (before he understood the complicated aspects of his sexuality) that if someone so much as made eye contact with Jughead in the grocery story he was jumping down the cashier’s throat for a phone number to ‘hook his boy up.’ It was always incredibly awkward to have to turn them down after his friend had just told them he was interested. Now, faced with his first official date ever, there were a whole slew of other problems to face. It was absolutely archaic, but chivalry was so far ingrained in him to be a desirable quality that Jughead had insisted on planning, paying for, and surprising Betty with a date worthy of their (and his) first. With two days to go, he was contemplating drowning himself in the bathtub instead of having to face the reality of his failure.

 

A part of him knew no matter what Betty would be glad to just be spending time with him in a clearly romantic setting without the threat of their friends interference. That was the part of him that sounded a lot like her because not even the deepest recesses of his mind would actually be kind or reasonable like that.  But he wanted tonight to be special, to be good, so he was worrying himself half to death, determined to plan something that wasn’t their usual kind of outing. As much as they both liked when she cuddled up to him during movie nights and squeezed his hand when they were out in public or he was picking her up from work, he knew that she wanted something at least typical date adjacent. And really, he did too.

 

His first mistake was trying to call Sweet Pea for advice. This was a plan that had failed spectacularly every time he had ever done it in the past, so it was his own fault for buying into insanity and repeating the same dumb mistakes only to hope for different results. It had, at least, been an entertaining five minute phone call.

 

“Take her to a strip club.”

 

Jughead choked on his water glass, snorting so hard bubbles fizzed up his nose. He was going to tell Betty he blamed her later, for insisting that he need to drink more water and subsequently buying him a case of sparkling water that tasted more like lemon Pledge than actual lemons. “Wow. So romantic. I know this is our first date, so how about we go stare at naked strange women together, something we both have no interest in?”

 

“I don’t know, man. My gaydar dings when I’m around Betty. She’s at least thought about sleeping with Veronica.”

 

“Just because  _ you’ve _ thought about sleeping with Veronica doesn’t mean we all have.”

 

Sweet Pea scoffed. “Okay, you can lie to yourself. What about a nightclub? It’s like a strip club, but clothes are less optional.”

 

“I’m hanging up now. Maybe I’ll call Kevin.”

 

“Kevin is a punk ass little bitch who—”

 

Jughead hadn’t ended up calling Kevin, instead choosing to wait around in the hallway for the other man until he passed by on the way to his mailbox, at which point Jughead pounced on him. He almost wanted to feel bad for making another grown man scream and toss his mail all over the hallway. Almost. But he couldn’t actually bring himself to do anything but laugh, even as Kevin smacked him with his surprisingly heavy packages.

 

“Any of this fanmail from you again, Jones?”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes and tossed the last of the large manila envelopes into Kevin’s grasp. “Please. Now that I know I can bang down your door late at night with conspiracy theories? Why waste the stamps?”

 

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you help me write the latest Mystery Monday script. I told my followers that I had the help of a ghost writer and the top two questions were if they were hot and if they were my boyfriend. You’ve left fame go to your head. Not that I can blame you. Being my boyfriend would be pretty amazing.”

 

“I’ll make sure Fangs doesn’t know you said that.” Jug rolled his eyes, grinning when he watched Kevin squirm a little bit, cheeks flushing.   
  


“What have you heard? Did he call me his boyfriend? What was the tonality? What context was the conversation being held in? Was he at knife point or was it a casual word tossed around? I need to know how serious he is because I can’t exactly Facebook request without knowing if he’s into me, too.”

 

“I thought you said Facebook was a dead medium.”

 

Kevin scoffed, peeling back one of the envelopes. Whatever its contents, he found them unpleasant, stuffing them back inside and putting the envelope back in his nearly overflowing basket. “The fact that it’s the only one you’re on proves my point. But it’s also the only social media where I can force other people to see on their feeds that I’m not single and lonely or third wheeling Moose and Midge anymore.”

 

Jughead’s voice softened and he reached out to squeeze Kevin’s shoulder. “How is all of that?”

 

“Fine. Honestly, I’ve moved nearly all my stuff out. I only ever go there to film because I already soundproofed the room. They try talking to me but I think there’s a mutual understanding that I can and will spit on all their food if they linger too long or touch me. I either sleep at Fangs’, God I still can’t believe I’m dating a guy named Fangs Fogarty of all things, or Betty’s, but I suspect her room is going to get crowded in the next few days. That is if you manage to not royally fuck up this date.”

 

“As much as I love our pleasant conversations, that’s actually why I cornered you in the hallway. I don’t know how the hell to plan a date.”

 

“And you think I do?” Kevin laughed. “I’m glad you have such a high opinion of me, but Jughead, I grew up in a small town where I was the only nice gay boy and until recently my idea of romance was Moose coming into my room after a date with Midge and spooning me.”

 

Irritated, he banged his head against the hall. “Fuck. Thanks for all the help, Kevin. You might have been as useful as Sweet Pea.”

 

“Hey, hey. That’s offensive and borderline disrespectful. I can still offer a few words of advice. She loves lilies so pick her up with a bouquet of those and you’re mostly golden. She won’t want anything fancy, but you still have to woo her, Jughead. Do you understand the meaning of the word ‘woo,’ English Major?”

 

“First of all, you can’t call me English Major, you can call me English Degree With a Focus In Creative Writing, fuck you very much. Second, I know what the word woo means, I just have never applied it practically.”

 

Kevin laughed, placing his hands on Jughead’s shoulders and forcing him to turn to meet his eyes. “Jug, relax. What you did with the flowers and being a shoulder to cry on? Absolutely magnificent show of wooing. Just be yourself and she’ll be happy. I can’t figure out why, but she actually likes you.”

 

“Haha. Maybe you should turn your channel into a comedy one.”

 

“And maybe you should pull the stick out of your ass, but not all days can be winners. Anyway, I’ve got an unboxing to film and unless you want to sit behind the camera and harass me for views, I’ll see you later. And don’t forget to actually fill out the Google Doc I sent you for our G and G session next week, okay? I need character motivations that go beyond Cheryl’s chaotic neutral thievery and Fangs wanting to punch things.”

 

“Aye, aye, Dungeon Master. I’ll make sure to get on that in between blindly panicking about my Saturday date with the only girl I’ve ever liked and finishing up Sierra’s demands for my edits.”

 

As Jughead turned to leave, he could hear Kevin scoff and shout, “I expect it by Sunday, Jones! Midnight, and not a second later!”

 

In a surprising turn of events—one he probably should have seen coming—it was Veronica Lodge-Andrews that came to his rescue. A sheer bout of desperation had led him to the Lodge-Andrews apartment at 5 PM on a Friday. He should have remembered Archie would be off taking his nightly run around the neighborhood with Betty, a ritual they had as a way to blow off steam from teaching a group of rowdy children on the regular. More than once they had offered him a spot to join. More than once, Jughead had laughed, loudly, and haphazardly explained that he did not particularly like exercise and would rather die early in a bed of burgers if he that was one of the options. He had a feeling that if this date went well and Betty enacted girlfriend status—pleased God let her enact girlfriend status—that was going to change. For now he’d enjoy his late night MacDonalds runs like the ashamed addict he was.

 

Veronica answering the door in a long silk robe should have been more surprising than it was, but he had known her for some time now and that was exactly the overdramatic thing he expected her to invest in. The Lodge emblem was embroidered into the top pocket, signifying the garment as a relic of a past she often preferred to forget. She smiled at him like the cat who caught the canary, “I was wondering when you’d show up. Kevin already told me you attacked him the other day.”

 

“Can I come in? Or are you going to hand out friendly advice on your doorstep?”

 

“Who said it’s going to be friendly?” She stepped aside anyway, ushering him in and sitting across from him on a chair far too lavish for the building, a startling juxtaposition against the peeling walls and rickety floor boards. Veronica sat on her ivory throne like a goddess of the apocalypse. “You did end up waiting until the last minute. But I’m willing to forgive you if you give Betty a night she won’t forget. It’s been way too long since my girl B had a good date. And I’m hoping you can give it to her.”

 

Jughead groaned. “Don’t hold your breath. That’s actually why I’m here. I have no idea where to take her. I thought the hard part would be admitting my feelings and getting her to agree, but as it turns out, I’m just an idiot.”

 

“Anyone could have told you that, but I’m glad we’re having a night of self-reflection. Come on, you don’t have a single thing planned? That’s not like you.”

 

He wanted to point out that she didn’t really know him well enough to know what was like him, and in this regard, he wasn’t even sure he knew himself well enough to know what was like him for a date. “I’m getting her lilies. I found a place that sells them for not the entire cost of my college tuition.”

 

“Perfect! B’s favorite flower. See, I knew you had something up your sleeve. Tell me you aren’t driving her on your motorcycle.”

 

“Well, since I don’t actually own a  _ car _ Veronica, yeah, I am. Unless you have a problem with that?”

 

She pursed her lips and took a drink from the tea cup set before her on the table. He had obviously interrupted some sort of nightly ritual that he frankly didn’t want clarification on. “It’s fine. It’s better than making her drive, I guess. And where are you going after that?”

 

“That’s sort of the part I was hoping you could help me out with. I’m drawing a blank. I want it to read as a date, not one of our weird platonic interactions where people ask if we’re a couple and we awkwardly laugh and brush over the subject ignoring it until something happens to distract us. I want to hold her hand and tell her I think she’s beautiful and has a cute butt.”

 

“Well she is beautiful and has a cute butt so that’s a start. It’s also incredibly sweet. I approve, at least a little. I know it doesn’t seem like anything fancy, but what about a bar? Someplace fun, but not a tacky, back-alley tavern where the drinks are cheap and if you fuck in the bathroom stalls you get a disease.”

 

“I’m sorry, do you mean to tell me that Veronica Lodge-Andrews has had sex in the bathroom of a dive bar?”

 

“I was wild in my unmarried younger days. Besides, I thought your friend Sweet Pea looked familiar.” At his stunned expression, she laughed. “I’m kidding! He’s not my type. I prefer ginger and wholesome, thank you. Go to a bar with good drinks, good food, and a cool atmosphere. I’ll give you the name of the place Archie and his friends go sometimes. How’s that sound?”

 

After years of neglect, abuse, and betrayal, Jughead always had a hard time not expecting the worst from people. He hummed. “And what do you want in return?”

 

Without batting an eye, she replied, “Your first born son. I’m kidding,  _ Forsythe _ .” He cringed and she smiled, satisfied. “I want you to promise me that you’re going to treat Betty the way she deserves to be treated, which is like royalty. She’s been hurt in her life too many times and I don’t want to see anyone else getting added to my hit list. She really likes you, Jughead. I’m just glad you two finally got past the awkward phase, because I’m not sure how much longer I could take her sitting on my couch pining and talking about how soft your lips look.”

 

“She thinks my lips look soft?”

 

“Beyond not the point, Jones. Focus. I’ll text you the details for the bar and you’ll end her night with a kiss so good she forgets her name.”

 

“Frankly, it might end up being the other way around, but I promise someone is going to be wooed.”

 

Veronica grinned, standing up with a dramatic flourish and setting her porcelain cup in the sink. “Now get out of my apartment before someone catches us scheming. I won’t have B questioning me about the details before you have the chance to surprise her.” She stopped him when he started to leave. “Oh and Jughead? I’ll hear every detail of this date straight from her mouth. If I find out you were anything less than spectacular, I will eviscerate you.”

 

“Somehow I don’t doubt that.”

 

“I’m a woman who gets results, what can I say?”

 

Veronica’s advice, Kevin’s pep talk, Sweet Pea’s terrible ideas, and some of his own galaxy brain wisdom lead him to Betty Cooper’s apartment at 6 PM on the dot that Saturday, holding not only a bouquet of lilies, but a bottle of wine to apologize for the two of them drinking all her’s that past weekend during their weekly rousing game of play along Jeopardy. He had dressed up for the occasion. Or, well, he had dressed up as much as was appropriate and his closet allowed. These were his nice jeans, with only one worn through spot on the knee, and his sweater and suspender combo was good enough that both Kevin and Archie had approved beforehand. Kevin had attempted to add a bowtie to the ensemble, but there were lines that needed to be drawn and this was one of them. His toes curled in his sneakers as he tried to ignore the spiraling tightness in his stomach while he waited for her to answer.

 

Punctual to a fault, Betty threw open the door with a brilliant smile in a dress that threatened to send him to an early grave. She had on white kitten heels, raising her a few inches taller, not enough to out pace his gangling limbs, but enough that if he wanted to kiss her—and he did, pretty much always—it would be an easier swoop down than before. Just above her knees was a sunny yellow fabric pushed lightly up as the air conditioning in the hallway kicked on. (It was too cold in the summers and too hot in the winters, but at least it tried to work.) Her hair, golden and curled, was out of its signature ponytail updo and he spotted flecks of bronze glitter on her cheeks, fallen from where it was packed on her eyelids. His heart threatened to jump right out of his body and run towards the nearest window.

 

“Hi. Hi you… are very wow. You look very wow. I mean you are also very wow. Both are accurate.”

 

_ Poetic, Jughead. _ He thought to himself. _ You’ll be writing those best selling titles in no time. _

 

Betty laughed, brushing her hair back behind her ear and leaning up to press a kiss on his lips. Sometimes he forgot they did that. He forgot that Betty Cooper of all people just liked to kiss him and he liked to kiss her and that was something he could do whenever he wanted as long as she was receptive. 

 

She took the flowers from his hands and grinned. “These are for me, right? I love them, Juggie. I won’t ask how much they cost.”

 

“Good, because both you and my credit card company don’t actually want to know.” He shook his head and followed her inside where she delicately arranged the flowers in a tall, skinny vase. “Do you like them?”

 

“I more than like them. They’re beautiful. But you didn’t have to; I am more than content with this being my present instead.” She snapped his suspenders lightly, letting her fingers trace along the lines of his sweater.

 

Sometimes it was still surprising how much he cherished the little touches Betty gave him. When they ran into each other in the hallway and her hand brushed his or the moments she blew him kisses from her window if she saw him parking his bike were some of his favorites. But it was times like this, where something akin to desire bubbled up inside of him, that unfamiliar warmth blossoming first in his chest and then radiating out to his limbs, could always catch him off guard. He really liked Betty, might even be in love with her, but that was a complicated debate with himself to be had another day. Right now, his head was foggy, his body was hot, and he was fairly certain that if they didn’t leave now he wasn’t going to want them to leave for the foreseeable future.

 

“Come on.” Jughead took her hands, brushing a kiss against her knuckles to soothe some of the disappointment he spotted on her face. “Let’s go. We’re just going to the Born And Local up the street. I hope that’s okay?”

 

Betty nodded, a smile on her lips that he had no doubt matched the one on his. “That sounds perfect, Juggie. I didn’t dress up for anything too fancy. But I think I just remembered that you happen to own a motorcycle and I’m not sure I’m equipped for that.”

 

“Come on, Betts, do you trust me? Just for tonight, live a little on the wild side. I even bought a second helmet.”

 

“I’m going to pretend you’ve always had a second helmet, for my own sanity, but…” She worried her lip between her teeth before finally allowing herself to relax and nodding once. “Sure. Yes. I’ll wear a dress and ride on the back of your motorcycle, Jughead.”

 

He placed his old leather jacket around her shoulders, watching as the arms swallowed her up and hung loose around her shoulders. It looked cuter on her than him, an interesting conundrum he would put in the ‘think about later’ column, especially combined with the mental image of her wearing no clothes and dancing on his home pole. “You’ll need this. It’ll protect you in case of anything. You ready to go?”

 

“With you? Anywhere and any when.”

 

The bike ride was as heaven-adjacent as the first pizza place Betty ever took him to, except he must have reached a higher level because it’s not the warm embrace of Italian food around his middle, but her small arms gripping tightly as she presses her face into his back speeding through the streets of New York. She only screamed once, which he promised her upon parking was perfectly normal for first time bike riders, and he was only laughing because she was cute. Betty smacked his arm good naturedly and popped on her toes for a kiss.

 

“You’ll have to teach me how to drive it some time.”

 

Jughead raised an eyebrow, laughing as he slotted a few coins into the meter for parking. “We’ll make that a third date activity.”

 

“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a third date.”

 

And just like that his high had come to an abrupt end. Had he already fucked it up so badly she was cancelling on all future date prospects? Was the motorcycle that bad of an idea? He watched her face soften and figured that the panic causing heart palpitations had probably migrated up to his facial features, pulling them tight in a frown. She gently smoothed it away.

 

“I’m just teasing,” she promised. “I get the feeling this is the first date of many.”

 

That helped to relax him and soon enough they were storming the doors of the Born And Local. There were a few people littered around, other couples tucked into back booths whispering sweet nothings and forgetting that personal space was of any value. Everything was bathed in a soft yellow glow, no natural light peaking through the closed windows except out on the patio, where people were playing darts, their laughter was muffled by a thick pane of glass.

 

The waitress escorted them to one of the booths and Jughead was surprised when Betty slid in beside him, shifting until she had comfortably wiggled her way into the crook of his body. He was sure he was smiling like a dork, but, for once, couldn’t bring himself to care about what any of the onlookers might have to say.

 

“You know I could always drive us home if you want a drink,” Betty teased, bumping him lightly. He had the feeling this would be the first of many attempts to commandeer his motorcycle.

 

“I’ve created a monster. One ride and you want it for yourself. I didn’t try to steal your car, did I?”

 

“No and to be fair I would sooner break your hands than let you. But I really, really don’t want to do that. I like your hands, Juggie.” She tangled their fingers together and smiled a smile so wicked he could feel the double meaning of her words lighting up his cheeks. When all he could muster was an open mouth sputter, she laughed and picked up the menu. “I’ve only been here once before, but I hear the wings are amazing. And maybe I’ll treat myself to a strawberry daiquiri. And before you open your mouth to complain and say something well meaning but borderline sexist, we both live in the Lodge apartments. I think going Dutch should be a given on dates. Besides, I still owe you after last month’s pizza debacle.”

 

He all but shuttered, remembering the flour still caked into the wood on his countertops and the way Sweet Pea had made a drunken fool of himself asking Kevin if he liked Fangs’ dick. It was the last get together Jughead was going to try to throw at his place. Ever.

 

“Okay. Fair is fair.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and went back to deciphering the full menu, trying to figure out which of the many delicious-looking items he wanted to try to stuff his face with in a non-repulsive way.

 

It was a good thing Betty had seen him eat before, back when they hadn’t crossed the ever-blurry line between platonic and romantic. She didn’t even bat an eye when he started rolling up his pizza and taking bites of it like that. Instead she just laughed, picking up a napkin and using it to wipe off his face. 

 

“You’re messier than some of the kids in my class.” She said it in such an endearing way that he almost wasn’t ashamed of his mess. Almost.

 

Jughead nursed the same beer all throughout dinner, watching as Betty indulged herself in her second glass of wine. They sat curled up in the booth together, his hand lingering on her shoulder, tracing slow and steady circles on the leather of his jacket, still wrapped tightly around her shoulders. He wasn’t sure he would ever be getting it back, and frankly he wasn’t sure he wanted it. A primal part of him loved the way she looked in his things, the way his scent consumed her.

 

“How was school today?”

 

Betty beamed and snuggled closer. “Oh my gosh, so the craziest thing happened today. I swear sometimes kids are small, evil geniuses.”

 

She was always so excited to talk about her workday, beaming when he asked about it and launching into a detailed discussion about some nefarious playground activities that involved one genius kid selling Starburst candies by the baggie full, only to get ratted on by a jealous M&M competitor. They both ended up with detention. Betty could talk about anything and he would be enthralled. She had once gone through every single Around the World themed essay the class had turned in that day, asking for his opinions on some of the funnier ones while he idly and mindlessly answered emails Sierra had been sending.

 

Jughead wondered if dating was always supposed to be this easy, and if it was, why people didn’t fall in love all the time.

 

When one of the dart boards opened up, Betty took his hand and dragged him to the station. “I haven’t played in forever. I bet I’m bad at it still.”

 

“I have a hard time believing you’re bad at anything.”

 

Dart boards and Jughead Jones have a complicated relationship—not that anything in a bar and him didn’t. On multiple occasions during his childhood he’d been sat on a chair and told to keep score, adding up the bets people placed and wondering why he couldn’t just do his homework instead. In retrospect, this was one of the many things his dad did that landed him squarely on the Problematic Father list. An eight-year-old shouldn’t be the booky for a local gang’s game nights, but an eight-year-old also shouldn’t have come home and seen his father and mother in an all out drunken brawl every night either. He went quiet, watching as Betty picked up the darts, trying to force away the negative thoughts prickling at the corners of his heart.

 

Instead, he focused on her, this brilliant light in his life dressed in sunshine yellow and looking at him like he was worth something. It was still strange to think that they were here, on a date, after kissing in the hallway of their rotted old apartment complex. In some ways it felt like every moment in his life had lead up to this one, watching Betty study white and red plastic dart tails to make sure everything was in order.

 

“You’re amazing.”

 

Betty looked up at him and grinned. “Thanks, Juggie, but what was that for?”

 

“What? I can’t just say it sometimes? There has to be an ulterior motive?”

 

“Hush.” She pulled him in for a sweet kiss. “You know what I meant. Now come help me get good enough that the next time Archie challenges me I’ll be able to beat him.”

 

“You two and your competitive natures. Do the kids at school get to see any of that?”

 

“Oh yeah. We have field day every year and the principle always puts Archie and I on opposite teams. He doesn’t technically have a class since he’s the music teacher, but he helps run some of the events. We have a special round for teachers at the end of the day and all the students who want to watch can. It’s usually the fourth and fifth graders, but other teachers who like to watch come out too. One time Archie kicked my sled out from underneath me and I ended up barreling right into a wall. And we also have an annual kickball tournament where teachers split up in teams. I’m always a team captain and so is Archie. Last year we both made it to the finals and I honestly thought there was going to be blood spilled on that field. The PE teacher had to act as a referee. The kids love it, though. They make signs. I think our rivalry is more for show than anything, but the competitive thing is still there. Just watching Archie lose, even if I don’t win, is one of life’s little pleasures.”

 

Jughead laughed, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. “Well then, let’s make you the best dart player in the entire world. I have to admit, I liked seeing him after we won our volleyball game.”

 

“That’s the spirit! I’m glad to have you on my side. Marriage loyalty dictates Veronica’s with him, but I think she still secretly wishes best friend rights trumped all else. Happy to have you in my corner, Jones.”

 

“Call me coach and cheerleader.”

 

Something wicked glinted in her eyes again. “I used to be a cheerleader, you know? Back in high school. I did it for a year in college but I didn’t love it the way I used to anymore. I still have the skirt, though.”

 

He choked on his beer, smacking his chest twice in hopes of clearing out the airways. People turned to stare at the two of them and Betty only grinned, fluttering her eyelashes sweetly and rubbing his back to help soothe his upset windpipe.

 

“You are a wicked woman, Betty Cooper.”

 

“And don’t you love it?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

 

He spent a some time teaching her the basics, helping her better her aim and line up her shoulders. By the end of it she was better than him. When she won for the first time she beamed, clapping and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Lucky me, I have the best teacher ever.”

 

“I think you cheated. In fact I’m almost positive that kissing me every time I’m about to throw is tampering with the competition.”

 

“I like to call it using my assets to my advantage. It’s not every day I have a boyfriend that is willing to indulge in my PDA.”

 

Boyfriend. That’s what she had called him. Her boyfriend. Jughead felt his cheeks flush, prickling all the way up until his ears were just as red. She grinned up at him coyly and suddenly the rest of the world faded into nothing but white noise. He pulled her in for a kiss much less tame than the ones they’d shared during the day, more akin to their under-the-stairs tryst when he had confessed his feelings. Holding her in his arms was absolute bliss.

 

Until some asshole interrupted them with a cough.

 

Betty pulled, back looking just as annoyed as he was, only to lock eyes with a taller, sweet-looking guy. Jughead didn’t recognize him, but it was obvious Betty did, taking a few steps before throwing her arms around him with a squeal.

 

“Trevor Brown! I thought you were still deployed! You promised you’d call when you got into town! How long have you been back? How long are you back?”

 

The man, Trevor, laughed and something sickeningly unpleasant stirred inside of Jughead. Oh. Well, that was an emotion he hated. Maybe he could grab the little green-eyed beast and shove it back into the box where all his other emotions were sitting, stuffed and overflowing thanks to Betty’s constant attempts at making his heart a few sizes bigger by the day. He’d been so distracted actually letting hope and love invade his brain that he hadn’t been doing his due diligence and using duct tape on his ugly emotions box.

 

“Trev, this is my boyfriend, Jughead Jones.” Betty had not stopped grinning since this man had appeared and Jug did his best to put on a smile as he extended his hand. He allowed himself to relish in the fact that she had called him her boyfriend.

 

“Nice to meet you, Trevor. How do you and Betty know each other?” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so tight, but it didn’t take Betty’s eyebrow raise for him to know he sounded like someone was pulling out his teeth. So he tried again, lightening up his voice and not forcing a smile. “Did you used to work at the school with her and Archie?”

 

“Oh, no. I wasn’t cut out to be a teacher. Betty and I dated in high school, before I joined the army.”

 

That was certainly fuel for the growing monster that had taken refuge in the pit of Jughead’s stomach. He wondered if he swallowed a cigarette, could he burn the thing out?

 

Jealousy was not an emotion he was intimately familiar with, at least not how it was manifesting now. He had been jealous of people’s lives, their families, the ease with which they navigated social interactions. When he saw a mother walking their kid to the park or a father and son bumping up and down the road in a messy driving lesson, he got the familiar gnawing in his stomach. Most of the time it felt less like jealousy and more like a constant humming of ‘what if’ that did not like to leave him alone for extended periods of time. Ever since meeting Betty, that feeling had taken an extended vacation, only to appear much stronger and much angrier, manifesting in a way far beyond Jughead’s comfort zone.

 

It made sense, really. When you’re never in a relationship, and you’ve got no desire to be, it doesn’t make sense to get jealous. But now he was dating someone—someone he had deemed far, far out of his league—and now he got evolutionary alarm bells ringing so loudly in his head his baser instincts were demanding he pick up the nearest chair and beat Trevor to death with it. Not that he would actually win that fight. The guy was in the United States military, and even after FP Jones, army vet, got too drunk to walk that training made him a force to be reckoned with.

 

“We went on one date,” Betty clarified with a smile. “Before we decided just to be friends.”

 

As if jealousy wasn’t enough, a dreadful fear crept towards his heart, holding it so tightly it might have stopped beating. Was Trevor’s fate destined to be his as well?

 

Suddenly he was more sick to his stomach than anything else, as all his least favorite emotions began to do a demented version of the Cell Block Tango against his stomach lining. He really, really didn’t want to come across as the jealous asshole boyfriend. Everything with Betty was still new and he was well aware how idiotic it was to be jealous of someone who his girlfriend had dated well over half a decade ago.

 

And yet.

 

“Come on, let me have this. You were the prettiest girl in high school and I did still get to take you to junior prom.”

 

“And then we watched a bunch of seniors get sick on spiked punch. Wild night.” She hugged him again, moving back to Jughead’s side. “Well, it was good to see you again, Trev. Call me and we can meet for dinner sometime?”

 

He offered her a salute and a wave. “You got it. See you around, Betty. And it was nice to meet you, Jughead.”

 

Even after he left, Jughead couldn’t get the bitter taste out of his mouth. It should be terrifying how well she could sense the shift in the atmosphere, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown as she took his hands. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I am having… an unpleasant array of emotions. I don’t like them.”

 

Maybe it wasn’t Trevor specifically that caused the upset, but the very harsh reality that Betty had more experience than he did by a long shot and all the complications in their relationship that might piggyback off of that. He was under no illusion that as much porn as he watched or as many books he read, they were not a supplement for actual experiences. There were a lot of things he was going to be bad at, but being bad for Betty terrified him. If he was anything less than perfection, he was going to tumble and fall flat on his face in front of the prettiest girl in the entire world and she might just realize she could do a hell of a lot better than a barely-graduated English major with a chip on his shoulder and a job writing fluff articles and faux quizzes at a magazine.

 

“Alright, then let’s sit down and talk.” She guided him to the table, sitting across from him instead of beside him, tangling their fingers together. Teeth worried her bottom lip and he could see her fidgeting. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Let me preface this by saying I know it’s stupid to be jealous of an ex-boyfriend, especially one you said you only went on one date with, so I promise I’m self aware. I just… think that since I already have a hard time understanding why you’d end up with me, being faced with the reality that you could literally pick up any man walking down the street sort of hit close to home. Especially because I’ve never done something like this before. Betty, I don’t date. I don’t know how to date. If you searched the word clueless in a dictionary you’d have a picture of Alicia Silverstone and then me.”

 

Betty smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze. “I get that, Jug, I promise I do. And I’m not going to invalidate your feelings and I don’t think you should either. You’re right, you’ve never dated and that’s a lot of scary emotions all at once to deal with. You have no experience with this. But do you know why I’m dating you? Because you know who Alicia Silverstone is. Because you look at me and I’m not who you want me to be, I’m just me. Trevor still sees me as the perfect cheerleader from high school who was so terrified about disappointing her mother that I was popping adderall I didn’t need and then hiding it and pretending everything was okay. You don’t see Elizabeth Cooper. You see Betty, the girl with all her faults.

 

“I like you because you may not have a lot of experience, but you’re sweet and fun and you clip coupons with me and listen to me when I need you to. I like you because you always wave to me when I’m on my early morning run even if you’re so tired I’m not sure you remember it. I don’t care that the experience is lacking, it just means that you and I are going to have a really fun time teaching you everything. At least that’s how I see it.”

 

He let out a sigh of relief, daring to flash her a tiny grin. “I hope you don’t mind that the teaching’s going to have to go slow?”

 

“Not even a little bit. With everything going on in both our lives I don’t think there’s anything wrong with going slow, Jug. I don’t care if we move an inch every ten years as long as we’re in it together.”

 

“Thank you for always being so supportive. I admit I’m not used to things like that and I’m apt to short circuit when you’re nice.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Thank you. But now I’ve realized that I haven’t asked how you’ve been doing lately, with your mom and everything. I know her selling the house really upset you.”

 

Betty sighed, looking down to pick at the pink creme nail polish peeling off the tips of her fingers. “I’m slowly getting over it. I’m upset because that was always supposed to be my house, but I think maybe it’s for the best. There’s nothing tying me down to that place anymore, so now I can focus on the rest of my life and building it somewhere else.”

 

He watched her curiously, the way her expression morphed and changed, so open and honest with her emotions. It was something he almost envied about her, one of her most admirable qualities. It was nice to be able to read Betty like an open book.

 

“I think that’s pretty amazing, Betts.”

 

The squeeze of his hand made her smile but she shook her head. “Thank you, but I admit I don’t feel amazing most days.”

 

“I’m not sure how you couldn’t see that. I feel like Shakespeare sometimes. And if I knew how to write sonnets in a coherent way I’d write you 155 of them. Just to show off a little bit. And, for what it’s worth, you’re amazing enough to have pulled me out of a serious case of writer’s block multiple times. You’ve morphed into my own muse in a lot of ways. I hope… I hope that’s okay for me to say? But I really care about you, Betty, so much that it scares me.”

 

“I like you so much it scares me too, Juggie.” She leaned across the table and planted a kiss on his lips. It was soft and sweet, nothing to scare the other patrons with a blatant display of PDA. When she pulled back with a pop they were both smiling like idiots. “Now, I think we have a game of darts to finish. And then maybe you can teach me how to play pool.”

 

Jughead laughed. “Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ll kick my ass at that too.”

 

She did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping in the future updates will be more consistent again!
> 
> Next: Chapter 10: Gryphons, Gargoyles, and Girlfriends


	10. Gryphons, Gargoyles, and Girlfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty accepts a lot about Jughead, but what about G&G?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been... a hot minute hasn't it guys? I know i haven't been updating much lately. To say my life is a bit of a mess right now is an understatement. I mentioned this on When the Lights Go Out, but I'm working two jobs while juggling a lot of other things in my life currently so my writing schedule has been fucked up, to say the least, bad to say the worst. So I'm really sorry it's taken me SO long to get this posted. I don't even have the next chapter fully written yet but honestly you guys deserve this for your patience.
> 
> A while ago, this fic won Post High School Fic and I really appreciate that. You guys are amazing and I appreciate everything and all of you reading <3
> 
> A little note about this fic, and especially this chapter. I play Dungeons and Dragons. And not like....casually play. I have a group set up every week where I play a dwarf cleric. and then ON TOP OF THAT, me and a few other amazing people in the Riverdale fandom play a G&G themed campaign. Currently we're trying to uncover why Sir Pendleton has lapses in his memory, perhaps caused by the mysterious Mother figure. I write the story, am thus the Dungeons Master. I write it from scratch. Which means I am essentially writing three stories at the moment, and I apologize that it means I have to balance and some things take longer. DMing is VERY time consuming but absolutely wonderful and rewarding when my lovely amazing players get excited and into the story I have created. OBvioulsy, I've got a lot of love for this game. I'm sorry to gush! The point of this was to say that there are aspects of this fic, and dynamic between characters, that are expressly paralleled by instances in both campaigns I am a part of. (Specifically Kevin's rant you'll see later on, is something my best friend said the day her boyfriend DM'd for her)
> 
> Thank you all for reading this story, but being so so patient and kind and wonderful. I adore each and every one of you and am ETERNALLY grateful for your support.
> 
> As always, thank you to my special betas @bettscoopr and @indiebughead, unwaveringly patient and kind.

The last month had been a fantasy for Jughead. Every morning when he woke up there was a text from Betty—his girlfriend, the girl he was dating, the girl he had kissed and was allowed to kiss whenever either of them  wanted—wishing him good luck on his day. Sometimes he would bury his face in the pillows for a few moments and take a look back to confirm that the text messages were real and not some figment of his smitten imagination. Not much had changed between them. He still went up to her apartment to help her coupon clip and determine what was the best organizational configuration for the  _ Charlotte’s Web _ webs her class had made so that no kid felt like theirs was worse than the others (There was one that kind of looked a hot mess, but Betty looked so proud that Jughead kept his mouth shut as she cooed over how avant garde her third grader had managed to get. Maybe that’s what he was as a kid. Not a lazy weirdo with holes in his jeans, but avant garde.)

 

Really, the only thing that had changed was the frequency of their hand holding, how often he felt the sweet softness of Betty’s lips, and the way his cheeks would flush every day, though the last one had increased less exponentially than the others. Whenever they were around each other he felt good. It was like the rest of the garbage in the world didn’t matter anymore. Sierra’s scolding, his dad’s incessant phone calls, nothing could bring him down off the high of her affection.

 

“Your love is insufferable and I hate it,” Cheryl sighed from her perch on one of Jughead’s rickety chairs, rattling the cherry red dice in her cup a few times. “Betty’s been walking around like she’s in some sort of trance. It’s disgusting.”

 

Kevin laughed and pulled back the plastic on the pre-made cookie box, setting it with all the other snacks the group had prepared for the evening. There were two soda liters, three bags of various chips, chocolate chip and sugar cookies (because Fangs was allergic to chocolate), and one tray of vegetables that was no doubt a healthy eating attempt from Cheryl who would end up arm deep in a Moritos Nacho Cheese bag by the end of the night as the carrots lay a casualty of time still on the counter. “As much as I’m normally one to agree that the straights are disgusting, I put far too much time and energy into actually making hashtag Bughead a thing.”

 

“You know I hate when you call us that, Kev,” Jughead sighed, pouring himself a glass of wine, wordlessly handing the already full one to Cheryl. “It’s weird. We’re not part of some WC teen drama.”

 

Kevin gasped. “You mean to tell me you aren’t some dreamy, tough, heart throb with a bad boy exterior and a heart of gold? For shame, Forsythe!”

 

Game night was always like this. Cheryl and Kevin would arrive first, with Toni close behind as she finished closing up her tattoo parlor. Until recently, Moose and Midge were invited, but after Jughead wordlessly slammed the door in their face a few weeks back they had gotten the message they were no longer welcome within five feet of his doorstep. Recently, Fangs had joined them, though he texted in the group chat earlier he was running late due to traffic but would arrive soon.

 

It was an unlikely group of friends, that much Jughead could attempt, but much of what he had stumbled into lately was unlikely. The first night Kevin had invited him the a Gryphons and Gargoyles game, he had been surprised to see Cheryl there. A socialite princess wasn’t typically the kind of person you’d find on one of his campaigns. As it turned out, she played a better deadeye than anyone else and he needed to shut his stupid thief face before she crit rolled and pushed him off a cliff on purpose.

 

Tonight was a special night, as Kevin was finally letting Jughead test out his Dungeon Master skills. He had spent the better part of the week writing out a short one-shot campaign that actually sounded good enough to present to his seasoned group. While he was writing, part of him wondered how on earth Kevin kept everything so clean and organized during his sessions, but then he remembered the time Fangs had managed to seduce a dragon thanks to a good performance roll and he’d had to rewrite the whole thing on a whim. Sometimes that was just how the dice shook out.

 

Jughead grimaced. “Please don’t call me Forsythe. You know I hate that shit.”

 

“Well not all names are winners, Jug.”

 

Cheryl snorted. “Oh? And Kevin’s a better name? You sound like you popped off the pages of a 1950s men’s health magazine.”

 

“That feels like an innuendo for something. Besides, you mean to tell me Cheryl Blossom sounds better than Kevin Keller? Please, I have alliteration!”

 

Toni and Fangs barged through the door before Cheryl could retaliate, each holding their handbooks with character sheets tucked between the folds. Fangs was holding a case of beer, which he quickly set down on the table so both of the newcomers could begin chanting, “Cat fight. Cat fight. Cat fight.”

 

“Your boyfriend is insufferable,” Cheryl scoffed, patting her lap twice for her wife to come sit with her. Toni happily obliged and pressed a purple kiss to Cheryl’s cheek. “Use a spray bottle or something on him.”

 

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Your wife did it too!”

 

“Yes, but mine is cuter.”

 

Fangs gasped, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m sorry, I have to disagree with that. Have you seen my face? My tiny body? I’m a treasure. A gift! When I smile, I have dimples.”

 

“Jesus Christ.” Jughead groaned, drank the rest of his glass, and poured himself another in quick succession. “You’re all very beautiful. Can we please actually set up to get this game started?”

 

It had never hit him before, but sitting in the midst of a group of couples he realized how much he might missed Betty when put in this sort of situation. He wasn’t even sure she would like something as complicated and nerdy as G&G, but he felt himself wishing she was there to share it with him nonetheless. Was this what it was like when you really liked someone? Wanting to share your interests and happiness with them? If so, he wanted a refund on romance. Missing Betty was severely going to get in the way of his DM abilities, especially if he couldn’t stop thinking about the picture she’d sent him this morning of her spinning in her new green dress, hair tousled from the early morning, laughter falling easily from her lips.

 

Despite it being G&G night, Jughead and Betty had made plans to go out for dinner and a movie, but a last minute emergency grading system crash had sent her into full tilt spiral with a request to raincheck. She had peppered his cheeks with kisses at his understanding and promised him she would make it up to him soon. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, but he was wishing she was here with him now.

 

“Oh no,” Kevin bit a carrot in half, sighing before pulling out a handful of chips instead. “Not until I get explicit details on the goings on in Betty and Jughead land. When I asked her about your date she just sighed and started giggling. Which is good news but not the kind of details I wanted.”

 

“And you think I’m the person to get details from? Kevin, I don’t tell people my real name if I can avoid it. I prefer to be enveloped in shadows and mystery.”

 

Toni snorted and helped herself to a sip of his wine. When he frowned she set it back and grinned. “Alright, Batman, calm down. Arkham City doesn’t need defending. We’re just asking if you two have gotten down and dirty yet.”

 

Choking on his beer, Fangs threw himself back in the chair, laughing so hard it might as well have shaken the walls of the apartment. Jughead sank lower in his seat, groaning as he prayed for the sky to open up and smite him where he sat. This was not the kind of conversation he had been hoping to have tonight. The opposite, actually. His adventures in the fantasy land of G&G were supposed to help ease his real world anxieties, not exasperate them.

 

At his request, he and Betty were going slow. There wasn’t any need to rush when they both felt secure in each other, in their relationship. Things were comfortable, even if they were moving at a snail’s pace. That wasn’t to say he didn’t sometimes wish he could muster up enough courage to ask her for another pole dance. He definitely did. But there was also something reassuring about taking their time, exploring each other inch by inch, from the inside out. They had only kissed like they had at the pool party a couple of times. Most of their interactions were chaste and sweet. It was nice. Good. Slowly, Jughead was starting to slowly understand that maybe one day soon he would want more. Until then, she was unendingly endearingly patient with him.

 

Lately, he had been feeling the stirrings of want and desire. Sometimes, when her gaze lingered on him when she thought he wasn’t watching, he could feel something radiate off of her body. Her teeth would tug at her bottom lip and he would have to adjust himself subtly in his seat to keep from showing off the obvious arousal pressed against his jeans. But he was nervous. Betty had experience. She’d had boyfriends in the past (like Trevor, who he still thought was way too nice and probably possessed by some government android butler) and with that came a whole slew of other experiences he was not privy to.

 

At the end of the day, he was worried he was going to find himself in bed with Betty and be absolutely incompetent.

 

“Hey.” Sensing his automatic deflation, Fangs gently put his hand on Jughead’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t let these assholes make you feel bad for not doing something. Sometimes it’s better to take your time. But if you want to talk about it with no judgement we’re here.”

 

“With very little judgement,” Toni clarified. “We can’t have your hopes set up too high.”

 

Jughead relaxed a little, shaking his head with a sigh. “I don’t know. I like her so fucking much it actually sort of scares me. I’ve never really liked anyone like this before and wanted to be with them all the time. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss her or spend hours doing pointless shit together in silence. Sometimes we just hang out and read together and it feels great. But I don’t know if I’m doing any of this right. I never got to bumble my way around high school relationships to practice, so instead I’m in my early twenties acting like some moron with a constant boner and no idea where to put his hands.”

 

“Poetic. No wonder you’re a writer.” Toni’s teasing was gentle. While her wife’s talents lay in scathing honesty, she had the ability to make someone feel better by razzing them a little. “But if it helps, I think everyone feels that way when they find someone they want to be with. It feels weird and strange and you’re trying to impress them because you really like them. I can’t tell you how awkward I felt during Cheryl and I’s first few dates. I dropped a whole pie on her lap because I got this stupid idea in my head to try and show her I could be sort of homemaker type shit. The pie was burnt and terrible and I learned I can’t bake but Cheryl absolutely can. You’re going to make mistakes but you should be making them, because through that you learn how well you compliment each other.”

 

Cheryl pressed a quick kiss against her cheek. “At least it was cherry. But the point my sweet TT is trying to make is that you’re going to be an idiot. It’s a natural part of any relationship that you really want to be in. We’ve all been idiots. Kevin and Fangs are still idiots. And if sweet Betty is willing to tolerate you then that’s all that matters. Take head though, hobo. If you dare to even think about hurting her, we have an extensive garden in our home and the authorities won’t be able to trace where the poison in your veins came from.”

 

He had never expected Cheryl Blossom of all people to be protective of Betty. They had always seemed like casual friends and nothing more, but he could tell by the way something flickered behind her gaze that she was deadly (literally) seriously.

 

It was Toni who decided to poke her wife to offer up an explanation. “It may not seem like it, but Cheryl and Betty are pretty close.”

 

“We’re family, is what my wife means, by marriage. My twin brother Jason married her sister Polly.” There was a sadness behind her gaze and Jughead remembered Betty mentioning her brother-in-law passing. If he wasn't afraid Cheryl would unhinge her jaw and bite his hand off, he might have reached out to offer sympathy. “After the sex tape was released by my ex my family disowned me. I hadn’t spoken to any of them since, except for JJ a few times, but even then he was always distant. But Betty was kind to me. Even in the midst of the scandal she assured me that I was still worth something, which of course I  _ knew, _ but the affirmation helped. She was even the one that found Toni and I the apartment when we were struggling after I was disowned. I wish I had gotten to say goodbye to him, and I’ve reached out to Polly with my condolences, but mother said I wasn’t allowed at the funeral, lest I further shame the family.”

 

“So I can thank her for having the worst upstairs neighbor ever then?” Jughead’s teasing lightened the mood in the room as Cheryl picked up a few carrots to throw at his head.

 

“You are insufferable. I’m not sure what Betty sees in you but she’s an idiot. Whatever, when she asks me to be one of her bridesmaids I’ll still stand up there with her, whispering about how I could find her a much better man off the streets.”

 

“You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, Cheryl.”

 

“I’m sorry, are you speaking to me, welfare baby? I’m not sure I gave you permission to.”

 

Jughead felt a little better after that, more relaxed now that he had finally been able to air some of his worries. Normally when he was worried, the first person he would turn to was Betty, but in this case hearing affirmations from her that everything was natural would feel a bit hollow. Idly, he wondered how on earth he had stumbled his way into this crazy group of people and ended up actually enjoying himself.

 

Kevin got to work helping Jughead set up the Dungeon Master arrangement. Jughead had splurged and bought himself a new pair of dice for tonight, so he didn’t risk draining Sir Pauldin’s lucky d20 of any of it’s magic. Green and black swirled in the plastic, and maybe it was the nerd in him, but he kind of liked how they looked rolling on the wood table. With all of his work hidden behind the board, they were finally ready to begin.

 

“Adventurers, the high priest of Eldarvire has requested that you deal with a clan of vampires haunting the local crypts. Three people have gone missing since they moved in, and he suspects they have joined the ranks of the undead.”

 

“And what are we getting out of it?” Cheryl asked, eyebrow raised. Leave it to her to always look for loot before he even offers it.

 

“If you’ll let me finish monologuing, the priest has offered you a map that has been passed down for many generations. He says it will lead your group to a hidden treasure buried deep beneath the city. And it just so happens to be in the same crypt he needs to have the vampire’s banished from. Before you heroes set up on your local adventure, is there anything you need to buy from the local shops to ensure your success?”

 

Before anyone could answer there was a loud rap on the door, interrupting their adventuring before it could even properly begin. “You know, the door is a nice touch and everything, but you could just knock on the table,” Kevin teased.

 

Jughead flipped him off, earning a loud set of chuckles from the rest of the group and an offended gasp from Kevin, before he stood and went to open the door. He was surprised to see Betty standing there, holding a pie tin in front of her body. It felt just like the first time she had ever offered him baked goods. That familiar, sweet grin flashed up at him and he felt his heart and stomach convulse in a confused mixture of hunger and happiness.

 

“Hey, Betts. What are you doing here? I thought there was a school district crisis?”

 

She laughed, that pretty green dress swirling around her. “It got sorted faster than we all anticipated, which is great, but also means we’ve just barely missed the dinner reservations. So I thought maybe I would bring you some homemade pie and we could cuddle up on the couch and watch a few movies to make up for it? I haven’t gotten to see you much this week so I thought it could be fun?”

 

“Who’s at the door?” he heard Fang’s shout. “Tell them to go away, it’s game night.”

 

Betty’s face fell, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh God. Jug, I’m sorry. I totally forgot you do that with Kevin and everyone and that you’d changed your plans so we could hang out today. Of course you’d have game night after I cancelled. I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt too much. I can bring the pie in and then leave! If you even want the pie. You don’t have to. I’m not even sure why I made it honestly… But, um, it’s pecan because I know you like crunchy pies and have this weirdly low tolerance for warm fruit so I thought maybe this would be good.”

 

“No! No don’t...don’t say that. I absolutely want your pie. I always want the pie you make, it’s the best.” He could hear them from inside, cackling at his awkward stumblings, and a large part of him craved the sweet release of death again. What was it about Betty that made his tongue tie into knots and all rational thought run straight out of his head? They were  _ dating _ . The hard part was already done. At least, he had thought it was. “Do you want to come in? I was actually thinking about asking you to come over when we were done. But if you’re here now you could stay.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, Jug. I know this is one of your favorite things to do. And Kevin always talks about how much fun it is.”

 

“Well then maybe you could join us. If you wanted to, I mean. You don’t have to. It’s complicated, but we’re just doing a one shot I wrote tonight, so if you don’t like it, not a big deal. But it might be fun and we could spend some time together still.” Sometimes Jughead wished he could rip out his own tongue. Had he been cursed by a witch to be awkward for the rest of his life? 

 

Despite his bumbling, he watched as Betty’s eyes lit up and she nodded once. “I’d love to! If it’s okay with everyone else. Gryphons and Gargoyles has always sounded fun but I’ve never really had anyone to teach me how to play.”

 

“Well, get ready to be part of the weirdest group of dungeoneers this side of Eldarvire.” He hoped that he was sounded at least halfway to confident. When Kevin smiled and winked, he relaxed a little.

 

Everyone greeted Betty with a smile and Kevin invited her to sit beside him while they worked together to create her a character. Jughead was feeling good with her here, like he had opened up a part of himself he would normally find embarrassing, and she had not only eagerly accepted it, but asked to join. She seemed genuinely interested as they all took turns describing the importance of the dice, the way they rolled, and how you would calculate your character stats.

 

“Do you have a healer yet?” she asked quickly, checking out everyone’s little pawns spread about the table. “I think if this is a combat heavy dungeon you probably need one, right? I don’t mind stepping in.”

 

_ I love this woman. _ It was the easiest thought he had ever had, sitting plainly on his brain, clear as day. He didn’t question it for a second. Betty Cooper was everything good with this world. She was sweet and gentle and dorky and could cook. She liked his mystery books and was willing to join his strange roleplay games just to spend time with him.  _ I love Betty Cooper. _

 

Jughead would keep that thought close to his chest for a little bit longer. As much of a slow burn as their relationship had been, he was pretty sure one month into dating plus the big L word equalled deranged serial killer more than excited boyfriend.

 

“You’re a godsend, Betty,” Kevin laughed, and nudged a glass of wine her way. “We’ll build you up as a healer. One thing though, Mister Dungeon Master. You better not go easy on her just because she’s your girlfriend.”

 

Jughead tried to hide his blush, but he doubted anyone could ignore the bright pink of his ears. “I’m sorry, you once gave Fangs a point of inspiration just because he ‘looked really cute cross legged in the chair’ if I remember right.”

 

“One, he did look cute, and two, you know that I would just as likely sell him in this game for one Gargoyle Coin and a cornchip.”

 

“Do the healers have to be warriors as well?” Betty asked curiously, looking at the stats in front of her with a frown. “I know it says I have to have a battle axe, but what if I want to be more of a rogue-ish cleric?”

 

Cheryl rolled her eyes, but Jughead could see the smile on her lips. “Please, Betty, it’s fantasy. If Jughead can pretend to be cool you can be a healer with a shortbow. I’m sure our DM will allow it for a woman as nice to look at as you are.”

 

“Chery, could you stop flirting with my girlfriend for a second when your wife is sitting in your lap? And has anyone heard from Sweet Pea? I know he usually shows up late but part of me is worried he got dismembered in an act of ex-partner violence.”

 

Toni shrugged. “I’ll allow it. Betty is cute. Just not my type. I prefer redheads over blondes. No offense.”

 

“None taken.” Betty waved her off, diligently checking a few more boxes in her character sheet before beaming. “I did it. I think. Does everything look right? The rolling?”

 

Kevin checked the boxes and cackled. “Oh my god. Betty has an OP cleric, this is going to be hilarious. This is Betty, Goddess of Dice. What magic is this?”

 

“I was just using the ones on my phone. I don’t have a set but maybe I can get some for next time?”

 

It was stupid. It was incredibly horribly stupid, to be turned on by the thought of Betty actively enjoying his nerdy games, seeing her here with him during his campaigns. Maybe their characters could end up in a fantasy romance. Kevin would probably throw a conniption about that, but if Cheryl and Toni got to get fantasy married then he wanted to take his girlfriend on fantasy date to a fantasy Olive Garden. And if Kevin had a problem with that then they would let the dice decide. Fate had already been on his side once, so maybe he could swing it twice.

 

Jughead picked up his extra set of dice from his G&G bag and set it in front of Betty with a smile. “It’s more fun if you use the real ones. I’ll let you borrow mine.”

 

“He’s letting her borrow his dice! How will this pan out, ladies and gentleman?” Kevin teased. “I’m positively swooning at his sincerity. It’s such a big deal when a man lends a woman his  _ dice.  _ Tell me Betty, are they heavy? Light? Do you like how they feel?”

 

Toni grinned, banging her hand against the table. “This is riveting. I can’t breath.”

 

“Can you two shut up for maybe five seconds?” Jughead groaned, squirming in his seat until he felt Betty’s gentle hand settle on his, giving it a tiny squeeze. He smiled and squeezed back. “Am I going to have to listen to your commentary the entire night?”

 

“This! This is exactly how I feel every time we play this game,” Kevin said, banging his hand on the table for emphasis. “Every two seconds it’s ‘Kevin, what’s this boys name?’ ‘Kevin, how many windows does this place have?’ ‘Kevin, what do I have to roll to vomit on this guys shoes?’. Now you know. Now you get to be Kevin. How does it feel to be Kevin? Is it fun? I’m gonna spend the entire game not letting you finish your monologues. Maybe I’ll have my paladin flirt with Betty’s cleric. For fun. Because tonight I don’t have to be fucking Kevin!”

 

“Hey!” Fangs protested, pouting across the table at his boyfriend. “You won’t even flirt with me. You consider on board romances cheap and ‘problematic for the party when they inevitably fall apart’ or whatever crap.”

 

“Fangs, my soft musical marshmallow, you are a passive aggressive dragon fucking gnome in this game. I wouldn’t even try if you were the last human, let alone gnome, in Eldarvire.”

 

“You know what, I think that’s fair.”

 

Betty tried to hide her giggles behind her hand, but Jughead could see the crinkle in her eyes and the little bounce of her shoulders. He grinned and gave her a wink. “Welcome to the wonderful world of Eldarvire, Betts. Are you sorry you showed up with pie yet?”

 

“Not at all, Juggie.” She grinned. “I’m glad I get to see this part of you and be part of it now, too. Okay, throw what you’ve got at me…what do we call you? Dungeon Master?”

 

Jughead hoped no one caught the little shiver down his spine when those words rolled off her tongue. A girl like her could be incredibly dangerous to his mental fortitude if she wanted to be. Hopefully she didn’t use her knowledge that flirting with him was the quickest way to a short circuit to her game time advantage. It would be embarrassing if his first night DMing ended with him dead on the ground. At least it would be one hell of a way to go.

 

“Okay, let me try this one more time.” He cleared his throat and began his monologue anew, suddenly filled with nervousness and the hopes that this would impress Betty rather than send her running for the hills. “Adventurers, the high priest of Eldarvire has requested that you deal with a clan of vampires haunting the local crypts. Three people have gone missing since they moved in, and he suspects they have joined the ranks of the undead.” He looked to his left and saw her eyes sparkling brightly, leaning forward and enthralled by every word he said. Jughead smiled and continued. “He has offered you a great reward for your troubles: a map leading to a lost treasure that has been passed down in his family for generations. If you—”

 

His door flew open and Sweet Pea was suddenly standing in his kitchen, hangover sunglasses on, a cigarette between his lips, and a paper bag of cheap liquor held tight in his fist. “What up, dragon nerds? I’ve come to kick dragon ass and drink beer. Lucky for me there’s plenty of both.” His eyes settled on Betty and he laughed. “You’re not in my usual cluster of dorks. How’d this dick manage to convince you to come play with us?”

 

“He didn’t have to convince me. I showed up with pie and sort of strong armed my way into the situation.” Betty laughed. “I think it’s just a good thing that I’m cute, or I’m not sure I could have interrupted game night.”

 

“Trust me, I’ve heard all about how cute you are. So what’s the status? Have we jumped on in for vampire slaying yet? Am I too late to woo a princess?”

 

Jughead groaned, hiding his face in his hands to save himself the embarrassment of his loose-lipped friend. “I hate you and I’m going to give you disadvantage on literally all of your rolls from this point forward.”

 

“That’s what I call cheating.”

 

“You’re what I call being an ass.”

 

Fangs sighed, throwing his hands in the air to break up the tension. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, you are both assholes. Can we finally start our game? We’ve got all our players, Betty’s ready to go, and I think Cheryl and Toni have polished off a bottle of wine. No better time than now, if you ask me.”

 

Sweet Pea appeared to mull it over before grinning and kicking Jughead swiftly under the table. “Alright. I think we can get started. Thanks for joining us today, Betty. Let’s hope Jughead will be able to focus better without checking his phone every four seconds for a text from you. Or it’ll make him worse because you’re right here and he’s easily distracted.”

 

“Disadvantage! The whole game! Only disadvantage!” His protests were drowned out by everyone else’s laughter. At long last, the game finally began.

 

Jughead was surprised at how easily Betty took to it. She was quick on her feet and with her tongue, outwitting a few of his more complicated traps with ease and grace. When everyone else tried to attack the vampires, her cleric rolled persuasion and sat them all down to tea. She ended up convincing one of them to show her where the treasure was without the others. By the time both bottles of wine had been finished she was being proclaimed Queen of the Dice and Princess of All Vampires.

 

Her cheeks were flushed pink from excitement and alcohol as they cleaned up the mess their friends had left and everyone gathered up their things and said their goodbyes. Kevin and Cheryl whispered something to Betty that left her blushing as Sweet Pea came over and threw his arms around Jughead’s neck.

 

“She likes you a lot, man. Don’t fuck this one up with self-doubt.”

 

“Sweet Pea, I don’t really want to—”

 

“No,” his voice was serious, surprising Jughead. Sweet Pea was not one for profound moments of lucidity, so when he offered up something meaningful it was often to be taken seriously. They had known each other for a long time, and Sweets was like a brother to him, so what he had to say carried a lot of weight. They had seen each other at their ugliest in high school and perhaps at their best now. “I’m for real, Jug. You fuck up so much because you’re afraid of failing. Someone is nice to you and you hit the self-destruct button to avoid fallout you can’t control. Don’t do that with her. Promise me?”

 

He softened, nodding as they shared a quick hug. “Okay. Okay, I promise. I won’t fuck this one up. Or I’ll do my best not to.”

 

“That’s the spirit. Alright, see you around. I’ll call you when I call you. I’ve got a date on Friday and if you don’t hear back from me by Sunday assume I’m dead and take care of my dogs.”

 

“You know damn well I would fucking sell them.”

 

“It was worth a shot. See you later, asshole.”

 

Once the last person had filed out and the apartment resembled something clean — and Hot Dog had been satisfied with a few too many handfuls of chips fed under the table — they collapsed on his couch together. Betty was flushed and giggling, buzzing with excitement as she recounted her tail of triumph like he hadn’t been right there narrating the entire thing. He didn’t say anything though, just sat there nodding along, ooing and aweing at all the right moments. It was sweet to see her so happy. She was more carefree and relaxed than she had been in a long time.

 

“So I take it this means you’ll be joining us for next week?” he teased, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He filled what was left of the last bottle of wine into two glasses. (When Betty had officially declared herself his girlfriend, she had bought him a set of wine glasses, writing her name in black sharpie across one of them and his on another. It felt silly, to have named wine glasses, but it was silly in the kind of way that made him grin like an idiot whenever he saw them in his cabinet.)

 

“Absolutely! Jughead, that was amazing. You did amazing. I have nothing to compare it to, so I can’t wait to see Kevin do it, but oh my god you really just painted this beautiful picture. I shouldn’t be surprised though, with how amazing your writing is, you know? Thank you so much for letting me do this with you. I know it’s your thing so I’m happy I got to share it with you and be part of it.”

 

He smiled, wrapping his arm around her so she could fold into the curve of his body. Casual touches like this were just as good as kissing to him. Little acts of intimacy were his favorite. Maybe it came from all the trauma, the lack of love and affection he had experienced growing up, but sitting cuddled up on the couch just talking made him happy.

 

“I was worried you were going to hate it. That it was going to be another thing about me that was weird and dorky, but the fact that you want to keep doing it is amazing. I don’t mind something that's mine becoming something that’s ours. If that makes sense and doesn’t sound stupid. If it does feel free to stop me at any time.”

 

“You are amazing, Jughead Jones.” She leaned up and kissed him sweetly, tangling his hand in hers. “So amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

 

“For what? I feel like all I did was give you a brand new weird obsession.”

 

She laughed. “For being you. You’re the most amazing guy I’ve ever met and I love being with you. I know when you met Trev you were worried but I hope… I know it’s impossible to say ‘abracadabra’ and take your nervousness away… but I hope maybe you’ll stop being nervous around me. Because you’re you and that’s why I like you so much.” She spotted the blush on his cheeks and grinned, placing a kiss on his nose. “Juggie, would it be okay if I kissed you?”

 

Before she kissed him, Betty almost always liked to ask. It made him feel powerful, in charge, but most of all it made him feel like she was actively listening to him. She cared about following his speed and his concerns and was actively making it a point to ease his fears as best as she could. Intimacy still worried him so she would ask before she moved.

 

“I would love it if you did.”

 

Laughing, she threw herself into his lap, the wine splashing up just a little as they cuddled close together. He set both their glasses on the end table (another request from Betty and a purchase from a bonus Sierra gave him for a good article) and pulled her forward for a proper kiss. It always felt like electricity when their lips met.

 

Betty moved closer in his lap, tangling her hands in his soft, black curls and cautiously slipping her tongue between his lips. He moaned and let his hands roam along the soft curves of her sweater. This was more intimate than even their hallway kisses, and he felt something deep stir in the pit of his stomach, tying in knots as butterflies fluttered around in a strange panic. It was utter perfection to feel her pressed against him.

 

And then she made the most amazing sound. Jughead’s hand had slipped under her sweater, tracing along the soft alabaster of her skin, when he heard her whimper against his lips. Filled with confidence, he let one hand wander up higher until he could feel the lace of her bra. When he palmed her breasts she did it again and rocked her hips forward. The friction of their jeans left him practically breathless as he held onto her tightly for dear life.

 

“Wait, wait.” Betty pulled back, lips swollen from kisses, her hair half fallen out of it’s ponytail and panting down at him with the most beautiful smile. “Is it okay if I take my shirt off? I… God Jug when you touch me like that. I want to feel more of it.”

 

He bit his lip and mulled it over in his mind a few seconds before the siren’s call of her skin called him in. “Yeah. Yeah, take it off.” He helped her pull it over her head and when she cautiously tugged at the edge of his t-shirt, he quickly discarded that as well.

 

Hopefully Hot Dog would mind his own business for long enough.

 

She looked beautiful like this, in just a pale-pink lace bra, small rhinestones surrounding the edge of the cups. It looked expensive and he was smart enough to take a few minutes to admire and appreciate it. Betty preened under his gaze. Sitting up a little straighter, she cupped his head and pulled him back up into another heated kiss.

 

Their bodies rocked together as a symphony of whimpers and groans filled the small apartment space. Her hips rocked forward, rotating in figure eights to press down against his hard cock. Jughead’s face fell between her breasts, kissing at every inch of exposed skin he could get, trying to fight his brain to keep coherent enough to last longer than some virgin frat boy getting his first lap dance. Only two of those things were true and, frankly, he wasn’t super thrilled at the idea of Sweet Pea somehow finding out and never letting him live this moment down.

 

Betty threw her head back, gasping as her nails raked through his hair, rough against his scalp, making him moan again. Their movements were getting more frantic now. 

 

“Oh fuck. Oh God, Juggie you feel so good. Harder. Please, I want you to grind harder. Hold me down and buck your hips up.”

 

With all those filthy words coming out of her mouth, he couldn’t even fathom wanting to argue. The harder he bucked up the more she cursed. “Yes. Yes, baby, just like that. Just—Just like….oh fuck. Oh fuck.”

 

His breath was hot against her skin. Every thrust of her hips sent him threatening to free fall, toes curled in his socks. He tried to bite the inside of his lip to keep from finishing but soon enough she was chanting his name and he could hardly think straight as white exploded behind his eyelids. Betty’s nails dug into his back, dragging up until her fingers were back in his scalp and he had nearly suffocating in her chest.

 

Is that what dying felt like? It would certainly be his favorite way to go.

 

But then the pleasure started to subside and he was acutely aware of how  _ wet  _ he felt. His pants were sticky, which didn’t feel great, but Betty was beaming down at him and suddenly he didn’t care, at least for a few seconds of post-whatever-the-hell-that-was bliss.

 

“Wow,” Betty giggled, leaning down and pressing a kiss against his lips. “That was amazing, Juggie.”

 

“Yeah?” Pride bubbled up in his chest as he let his hands rest on her hips. He took a few deep breaths to try and center himself again.

 

“Beyond, yeah. Thank you for that. But how are you feeling? Are you okay? Did we go too fast? Did I push too much?”

 

Jughead laughed, giving her a gentle squeeze to help calm her down. “Betty, it’s fine. Everything is fine, I promise. You asked every step of the way and I appreciate it. You made this amazing. Whatever it was.”

 

“Dry humping. That’s what that was. Making out and then dry humping.” She kissed him again and relaxed against him for a few seconds before standing up. “I should let you go change. That can’t be comfortable and um… I hear it’s worse when it dries. I can wash them for you if you want? I did at least contribute to this problem.”

 

He groaned, standing up and trying to ignore the uncomfortable stick of his pants, grabbing his shirt from the ground. “Nope. No. Definitely not going to allow that. I have to keep some of my pride. When I get back do you want to maybe stick around? We could pop some popcorn and watch that movie?”

 

“Yeah, Juggie. Yeah I’d really love that.”

 

The night didn’t end until they had both fallen asleep on Jughead’s couch. They were wrapped up in the one throw blanket he owned, her head resting lazily on his chest, both their legs spread uncomfortably across the old leather as his arm rests awkwardly over his head. When Kevin came in to pick up something he forgot, he hid a smile behind his hand and snapped a picture with his phone, sending it in the group chat.

 

**Kevin:**

_ Learn to lock your door! We live in New York, for fuck’s sake. _

_ You’re going to get robbed _

_ Also I #ship it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses and love to all of you. I hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 11: Family Matters


	11. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an unexpected visitor in the Jones apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ton of hugs and kisses to everyone who's been on this wild adventure with me. I know I said updates might be a little slower, but then I accidentally wrote literally all the remaining chapters in the span of a week because once I started, I couldn't stop. So with that, how about a shout out to @bettscoopr who had DMs ranging from "i finished another chapter! Yay!" to "i finished all the chapters. My power is too strong. I have ascended. No one can hurt me now." And of course the ever marvelous @indiebughead for being a darling beta as well.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy what I have to offer today <3 Things are about to get slightly angsty as we chug through until the end so buckle up!

It was bold and stupid of Jughead to assume that he had gotten his life in order, that things were finally falling into place the way they were supposed to after you graduated college. He had a girlfriend--a real life girlfriend who in real life liked him and wanted to spend time with him and kiss him and hold his hand in public and be weirdly pseudo-domestic with him—and a job that paid him to do something at least adjacent to what he wanted to. He should have known he was dealing with a ticking time bomb. Jones luck hung over him like a threatening cloud and at last it was time for lightning to strike.

 

It all started with an innocuous, late-night phone call. He had dropped Betty off at the airport only an hour before throwing himself into bed, promising her between kisses that he was just a ring away. She was on her way to visit her slowly-imploding family at Polly’s behest. There was apparently something that all the Cooper women needed to discuss, though the disjointed and vague text messages made Betty more concerned there were drugs involved, and for the sake of her little niece and nephew she booked the first flight out to her hometown.

 

The incessant chirp of his phone had him bolting upright, scrambling to slide the bar through all the cracks in his phone screen so he could answer. He didn’t even pay attention to the number on the screen, croaking out a tired, “Hello?”

 

“Boy!”

 

_ Oh god. _

 

_ Oh fuck oh god. _

 

_ Oh shit. _

 

Jughead fell back into bed exhausted and contemplating whether or not to just hang up the phone and go back to sleep. But the consequences of that would be a restless night filled with shrill ringing as his father frantically attempted to extort him for either money, food, or some other basic necessity he couldn’t manage to scrounge up for himself in the midst of an alcoholic daze.

 

FP Jones was an interesting type of man. He had been an alcoholic as long as Jughead had known him, which was twenty-three years as of October. There were moments of brief sobriety where he tried and failed to fix himself. These were punctuated with bouts of attempted parenting, filled with apologetic gifts that were outdated at best, callous at worst. Jughead didn’t hate his father. He pitied him in a lot of ways, wished he could clean up his act, but acted without the optimism he had as a young teenager before the system took him away. He wanted his dad to get better but was acutely aware that he likely never would.

 

“What the hell do you want, Dad?” he sighed, bringing the pillow to his face in hopes of a merciful suffocation. “I don’t have any money to give you. I’m poor too, remember? Partially your fault.”

 

“I’m not asking for money. Tell me where the hell your mother is. I want to see my daughter.” His words were slurred together and Jughead could hear the low base thrum of a bar in the background. 

 

Jughead rolled his eyes, thumb hovering over the red button on his screen. If he were a worse man he would hang up now and never answer again. But despite all odds he actually loved his father, wanted him to be a better version of himself, even if this was a somewhat futile daydream—the same kind of daydreams he used to have about living comfortably as a middle class man instead of scrounging coupons and penny pinching to keep himself alive.

 

“You can’t see her. There’s a restraining order put against you for both mom and JB. You’re shit out of luck. But you knew that so why the hell are you calling me at two in the morning? Are you that determined to make my life miserable?”

 

“Why are you being so mean to your old man, kid? I’m half the reason you’re alive.”

 

“Yeah, and you’re half the reason I’m reprehensibly fucked up. So if you could leave me the hell alone that would be great.”

 

The last thing he heard was a half hearted “ _ boy!” _ and then the heavy click of a cut off phone call. It felt good, to tell his dad off in no uncertain terms to stop bothering him whenever he was bored. For most of his life, Jughead had delicately danced around FP, always trying to look for the bright side in their frustrating conversations. When FP first got thrown in jail, Jughead took the bus every weekend to visit him. He was sober in jail. It was mostly due to a forced rehab program, but he was sober, and Jughead could see a future where he got out of prison and they could be a family again. Maybe even one with his sister and mother.

 

But the dreams he had as a child died the second his father stumbled out of lock up early for good behavior and parked himself at a bar, forgetting all about the promise he’d made to his son to come visit him at his foster home. Jughead sat on those front porch steps until the sun had set and the rays of the moon danced across his features no doubt laughing at his misery. When his foster mother came outside to bring him in for dinner, he locked himself in the only bathroom in the double wide and didn’t leave until he ran out of tears to cry.

 

As an adult, Jughead wasn’t very willing to be optimistic anymore. There were one too many disappointments in his childhood to allow for that. So he blocked the phone number his dad kept calling him from and settled back into bed for a semi-restless slumber.

 

He woke up at five in the morning to a few texts from Betty, promising him she’d gotten in safe and sound, telling him she missed him, and wishing him a good day working from home. Sierra never came into the office on Fridays so she gave him permission to take up residence in his home with the company laptop and answer or forward emails from there. He was also working on another article she had assigned to him. One last test, that’s how he thought it, before Sierra finally admitted to herself that she liked having him around and wanted him to be on the team full time. At least that was what the hopeful side of him—which sounded a lot like Betty—kept saying over and over again.

 

The day Sierra had called him in to work on the article has been easily the scariest day of his life. There was nothing like being called into a room where you're dragoness boss sat perched amongst of red scratched articles, the shredder beside her heavily used. She leveled her gaze with him set her folders to the side.

 

“Did you know, Mr. Jones, that I used to be a very respected lawyer?”

 

He swallowed, swaying back and forth on his heels, distinctly aware of the one time he had gotten her coffee order messed up so badly she tossed it out the window. She was looking at him the same way now. “I did not know that.”

 

“And as a lawyer, I have a keen eye for many things. I can tell when people are lying and I can tell when people are not living up to their full potential. You, Mr. Jones, are not. So, I have a proposition for you. I need someone to write me an article for next week’s issue about women and dating. I understand you’re somewhat new to it and I think your perspective could be an interesting one for women to read. If I like what I see, I’ll consider keeping you on full time as my assistant, as well as allowing you to occasionally write freelance articles when required. Does that sound fair?”

 

He bit back every single fear that simmered under his chest. He wanted to ask where her other secretary had gone, only before realizing he frankly didn’t care, because this was a job he needed and was at least author-adjacent. He wanted to ask how in the hell he, someone who had only recently even begun dating a woman, could offer advice to anyone. But then he remembered watching Betty at his Gryphons and Gargoyles game, how excited she had been, how much they shared with each other or laughed over pizza, and he realized he knew what he was going to write about. Betty Cooper was a muse the likes of Da Vinci could only wish for.

 

“It sounds fair. It absolutely sounds fair.” He stumbled over his acceptance of her proposal, but Sierra simply gave him a tight smile and nodded before shooing him off to answer more phone calls.

 

Now, as he sat there with barely any sleep, trying to remember if he even knew how to type without copious amounts of caffeine running through his system, Jughead felt unsure of himself again. He watched the coffee pot bubble as quickly as it could, the familiar, loud grind filling the air with his favorite comforting scent. Liquid energy dripped into the plastic and before it was even done pouring he had made himself a cup.

 

Coffee didn’t help much. He was having a hard time not lingering on to how pissed off he had been at his father last night. Every time he tried to think beyond that, he was reminded again of how entitled FP felt to his life even after all these years. He didn’t ask how he was doing, he didn’t even ask if he had finally graduated. All he did was ask where his wife was so he could go harass her in whatever twisted game of cat and mouse they loved partaking in on a regular basis. He only hoped Jellybean knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire.

 

Two hours later, with little progress on the article made—though he had fixed the whole in Hot Dog’s bed with a clever google search on how to stitch, making the big sheep dog beyond thrilled—he threw himself onto the couch and scrolled through his phone. In his G&G group chat their were a few hot memes featuring halfling baby bjorns that maybe Sweet Pea’s orc could wear and carry Fangs around in. He EVEN found himself refreshing some stupid blue blog website he hadn’t used in a months a few hundred times just to see if anything new cropped up on his feed. Just when he was about to call it quits and sit in a hot shower in hopes of inspiration, his phone dinged with a text from Betty.

 

**Betty <3:**

 

_ SOS. Can you call so I can step away from the insanity that is my mother and sister’s weird Farm baby yoga class. Everyone but me is topless and I’m distressed. _

 

When she answered the phone, he was barely choking back his laughter. She huffed, “Don’t laugh at me. This is horrible, Juggie. I barely managed to escape when my phone started ringing. Everyone was glaring and the instructor, she didn’t want to be called a yogi because apparently that’s too mainstream and not something the Farm believes in, Evelyn Ever-fucking-whatever, told me I had to leave because I was being disruptive. Jughead, they live in some strange commune now. Last night I slept in one of those bunk beds you see on cult documentaries.”

 

“Okay, okay, slow down. As much as I agree that whatever the hell your family has stumbled into is off the wall bonkers, I’m not sure they’re about to poison you while you’re sleeping. You have a lot of people who know you’re there for starters, so that would mean a lot of questions. Besides, you’re way too smart to drink any kool-aid they offer you.”

 

“Apparently they ferment their own kombucha here. Mom loves it. Apparently it’s a side business she’s opening up. All the money goes to the  _ FARM _ , of course, because my once practical and level-headed mom has been possessed by a group of body snatchers.”

 

Jughead laughed, picturing the little flare of her nostrils when she got upset, the way she pulled on her ponytail and paced back and forth, her hands flailing wildly and without reason. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you watch  _ Invasion of the Body Snatchers _ . This kind of thing happens a lot when people end up in a cult. It’s cult magic. And I’ll be serious for a minute, do you think you’re actually in any danger being there?”

 

Betty sighed and he could hear the little swish of her hair on the other end. “No. No, I’m fine, but i don’t know why the hell I’m even here. Polly said it was an emergency but the only emergency is their attempted conversion. It’s sweet they want to save me, and I’m glad I’m spending time with the twins, but I feel more out of place than I did when Mom helped Polly get ready for a middle school dance and all I wanted was for someone to paint my toenails, too. Everything used to make so much more sense and it doesn’t anymore.”

 

“Trust me, you’re preaching to the dysfunctional family director over here. Last night my dad called to harass me for my mom’s location again.”

 

“Oh, Juggie, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I know how much your dad can upset you.”

 

“I’ll survive. I’m feeling better about it than I usually do, but I’ve got the worst case of writer’s block from it ever. It’s like all I can think about is how much of an asshole he is even when I’m trying to focus on writing. Hardly seems fair he still gets to mess with me like that.”

 

“It’s not fair,” she sighed on the other end of the line. “I miss you. I promise when I get back we’ll do something to forget all about our respective family drama.”

 

He grinned, unable to keep himself from sounding as smug as he felt. The events of Gryphons and Gargoyles night would be burned into his memory for as long as he lived. “Is that a promise?”

 

“I was talking pizza and a movie but something tells me we might be talking about two completely different things.”

 

“Pizza and a movie sound great, but what about a rehashing of that night we got really drunk and you showed me how to properly work the pole in my living room?”

 

She giggled and he could practically see the blush on her cheeks. “I think if you’re good enough that can be arranged. Now, focus on your writing. How about you go down to that old diner, grab yourself a cheeseburger and a milkshake, and then come back? You can’t write on an empty stomach and I’m sure your fridge is barren.”

 

“It’s scary how well you know me, Betty.”

 

“It’s great Sierra’s giving you an opportunity, by the way. I know you’ll do amazing. What sort of thing do you have to write today, anyway?”

 

Jughead sighed and mulled over how best to approach the subject delicately. In some ways, this article was about both of them, not just him. He would be mentioning her loosely, probably as vaguely as she wanted him to, in an effort to make things make sense. “About being a 22-year-old virgin.”

 

He heard her snort and then quickly attempt to cover it up with a cough. “I’m not laughing, I promise. I think that’s a really good idea, Juggie, like honest to goodness. There’s a lot of people out there like that and I think maybe sometimes they feel isolated or alone or weird for it.”

 

“Yeah trust me. There have been a multitude of times that I’ve felt like some out of place weirdo because of it. But it was all about finding the right person.” He let that thought linger for a few minutes longer, hearing her bite back a happy little hum, easing his worries that she might not have understood exactly what he meant. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

 

“Shoot. Whatever keeps me out here long enough that I don’t have to watch Evelyn do downward facing dog topless.”

 

“How old were you when you…” It was hard to choke out, but it was a question that had been lingering on his mind for a long time, “had sex for the first time?”

 

“Oh! Well, um, promise no judgements.” He promised and she continued with a sigh. “I was sixteen. I’m not sure I regret the experience so much as I regret the person. He was a huge jerk in retrospect but I was so determined to be like everyone else that I sort of forgot. It was my senior year and everyone was talking about boys so I jumped on the first chance to experience it, too. I didn’t have sex again until I was twenty, and then I sort of finished college feeling wildly empowered by my newfound sexuality.”

 

Jughead smiled, imagining a wild-haired college Betty running across campus in her bare feet, sneaking out of windows and giggling with her friends over the phone. Sometimes he wished he had known her back then, but then the reality of how much of a loner he was before being thrust into apartment shenanigans set in. He would never have had the balls to talk to someone like Betty back then. If it hadn’t been for Hot Dog he probably wouldn’t have now. It was crazy how the world worked sometimes.

 

“No judgements. Thanks for telling me that story.”

 

“Of course, Juggie, I trust you with it. I hope your first time is better than mine was.”

 

“I know it will be. I’ve got someone really special I want to share it with.” He could practically hear her blushing from the other end of the phone and he beamed.

 

Their phone call ended really quickly after that, when he could hear a small fight breaking out somewhere behind her followed by Betty’s frustrated screams for her mother to calm down and Polly to put on a shirt. She gave as much of a goodbye she could before hanging up the phone. A few minutes later he got a texted heart to assure him that all was well in the world. He took her advice and drove himself down to the old 50’s diner he loved so much and even treated himself to a basket of onion rings.

 

While he was there, Jughead got a few words scribbled on the back of hastily uncrumpled napkins. His heading was smudged in ketchup and the first paragraph looked like a kindergartener had written it, but he felt better about himself and his writing. Archie stopped by to pick up a shake for Veronica on his way to her office and reminded him about bowling two weekends from now. Things felt normal, like perhaps this was how it was always supposed to be.

 

As he was wrapping up the other half of the double order he had ordered for dinner and been unable to stop himself from starting on, his phone buzzed on the counter, that familiar picture of Betty illuminating the screen. She hadn’t stopped texting him since the fight had been broken up and even explained to him that another Farmie had said something about Edgar that her mother took offense to and now both women were in the sauna to ‘reconcile their differences,’ whatever the hell that meant. He wasn’t even sure Betty knew.

 

**Betty <3:**

 

_ Polly’s talking about coming to visit me one day. Mom, too. Apparently she wants to make sure I’m “making safe and healthy choices that will help me be more in touch with the earth around me” or something. _

 

_ Am I a terrible daughter if I say no? _

 

_ Or say yes and last minute make up an excuse? _

 

_ Totally unrelated, obviously, but do people still get bird flu? _

 

He laughed, but truthfully, if Jughead’s mother came to visit he might be even less composed than Betty was. Gladys Jones was a chaotic tropic storm to rival the likes of Cheryl Blossom. She would come through his life tearing everything up like a ready-to-kill hurricaine and leave him in ruins and in debt without so much as a hello or goodbye. Growing up, he had thought she did the right thing, taking Jellybean and escaping. It was only when he came face to face with her adept guilt manipulation tactics and love of beer that he realized he was one of the unlucky few to have both his parents crawl straight out of dumpsters.

 

**Jughead:**

 

_ Stay strong, Betts. You’ll be home in no time. And we’ve got a pizza date when you make it through. _

 

**Betty <3:**

 

_ Honestly the only thing keeping me going.  _

 

_ No pineapple? _

 

**Jughead:**

 

_ Just this once and only cuz i feel bad _

 

**Betty <3:**

 

_ You. Are. Amazing! _

 

He ended up staying at the diner for a few extra hours, to the point where he could tell the waitress was not thrilled that the table wasn’t circulating and the coffee refills she was pouring him got to be on the cold side of lukewarm. He made sure to give her as large of a tip as he could afford as well as an apologetic grin when he finally packed up his things. He gathered all the napkins and stuffed them into his bag before ordering a cheese danish from the case to go. The waitress shoved it into his hands with a pointed look to leave and not come back for the rest of the day, sending him on his way at long last. 

 

There were no more text messages from Betty by the time he made it home, which made him a little sad, but he knew that she was busy dealing with whatever the hell was happening in Cult Land so he tried not to take it to heart. Life was not being particularly kind to either of them lately and he hoped he’d at least be able to call and wish her goodnight, baring that the Farm didn’t have some insane ritual she had to participate in. They seemed as benign as any cult could be, but that didn’t stop him from spending the better part of his day worrying.

 

Life was having a good time fucking with him today. Jughead dropped his keys in the crack between the stairs, cursing Veronica for not repairing it like he’d asked several hundred times. He knew, practically, that there were much more important things that needed fixing in the apartment and if his hands weren’t still messy from the hastily devoured danish he probably wouldn’t have lost them, but he was blinded by frustration. It took a few minutes, but he finally fished them out, not before Toni caught sight of him and snapped a picture to lord over his head at their next G&G session.

 

“Is Betty coming again?” She asked, following him up the stairs. The concrete steps weren’t exactly big enough for both of them, and if anyone wanted to get by they would end up in one hell of a traffic jam, but bumping elbows with Toni wasn’t the worst thing in the world. The elevator was still broken and he was starting to think it would be broken for the rest of his time here at Lodge’s Luxury Living. “Next week I mean. She was a riot.”

 

“Yeah, probably. It depends on how well this Farm thing goes. She might be indisposed after she comes back, since dealing with her family is sort of a handful.”

 

Toni snorted, rifling through the mail in her grasp. “Isn’t everyone’s? Catch you later, Jones. Oh, and wear some ear plugs tonight. Cheryl and I got a package yesterday.”

 

“I hate you.” He groaned, already bemoaning the sleep he’d lose. No doubt Hot Dog was going to go apeshit over the loud buzzing like he always did or would be so convinced moaning meant someone was dying that he would keep the entire complex up with his barking and Jughead would be subject to seventy plus text messages from disgruntled neighbors. “I actually hate you. I hate you and your wife and the thin ass floorboards in this apartment complex. I hope you choke.”

 

“That’s the goal. See ya!” With a salute, she was gone, taking the steps up two at a time.

 

Jug was in a bad mood by the time he got to the door. He unlocked his apartment, expecting to hear the yap of Hot Dog convinced he was an intruder and ready to fight, but nothing came. For a brief moment, he was worried someone had broken into his house to steal his dog. It only took a moment before he realized how ridiculous that was. Even if someone had stolen Hot Dog, they’d bring him back with an apology note after a few hours.

 

Cautiously, he peeked into his living room, surprised to see his fearsome sheep dog rolled onto his stomach, tail wagging so hard it smacked against the floorboards, panting and wiggling as someone rubbed his stomach. He recognized her with the same familiar warmth you get looking at an old photo—it feels distant, but there’s a comfort to it you can’t deny. That blonde hair, those big eyes, and an attitude that had been the same since she was three years old and lying about stealing his fruit snacks.

 

“Hey loser, nice apartment.” Jellybean grinned up at him, pulling Hot Dog into her lap and accepting his kisses with a laugh. “Cool dog, too. I like him.”

 

“JB? What the hell are you doing into my house? How did you even get in here?”

 

She shrugged. “The old guy downstairs let me in. I told him I was your sister and he just gave me a spare key. Your security here kind of sucks. I totally could be a mass murderer or, like, an arsonist.”

 

“Instead you’re just an annoying younger sister. I’ll have to get Veronica to put up a sign to not let hooligans in.”

 

“Then she’ll have to kick you out, won’t she? Shame.”

 

Jughead sighed and plopped next to her on the ground. As happy as he was to see his sister, her appearing out of thin air was not a sign of good things to come. He could already hear his mother’s shrill voice in his head asking him how the hell he could ever have let this happen as if this was in any way, shape, or form his fault. Gladys had a way of wiggling under his skin and exposing him for all that he was worth.

 

“Alright, fess up. What the hell are you doing here? Last I checked you and mom were in Toledo, Bean. Not exactly an accident to end up in New York.”

 

Jellybean frowned, pulling Hot Dog closer and burying her face in his fur to avoid answering. They sat in awkward silence until she finally sighed and pulled back. “Fine. Mom is being wacked out so I hoped on a bus and came here. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was tired of her getting angry and kicking me out whenever she couldn’t handle it. I was tired of working my ass off at the chop shop and feeling like a snake. Just because I’m good at hustling doesn’t mean it’s fun to do, you know. And I’m almost eighteen! She can’t make me do anything.”

 

“Legally, she can make you do whatever the hell she wants until you reach that magic number. Is she hurting you? Are you safe?”

 

“I’m fine, Jug. It’s not like that. I guess she’s not even technically kicking me out but when we get into arguments I don’t want to be there anymore so I just leave. Sometimes I crash at a friend’s house but I think they’re tired of me couchsurfing. So I came here. That’s not like… a problem, right?” All at once he remembered how young his sister was for all the shit she’s had to endure because of the toxicity in his parents’ relationship. There was an innocence in her eyes, the same kind of hidden youth he keeps tucked under layers of bullshit. He doesn’t ever show it but he wants his sister to live with a little less fear than he does.

 

Jughead tucks her under his arm, pulling her close. “Mom’s going to be so pissed off when she realizes you’re here.”

 

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

 

“It’s fine. Bean, you know you can stay here for awhile, but I can’t just let you stay indefinitely. You have to go back and at least finish up high school, then we’ll talk about what happens next. Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”

 

Jellybean laughed and curled into his side. She felt so small like that. So young. Probably because she was. It hurt him to know she had to grow up at the same velocity he did. “Leave it to you to worry about food. I could probably eat. How about a pizza?”

 

“Pizza it is. Lucky you I know the best place in New York for delivery.”

 

While he ordered she quickly went into the bathroom for a shower, claiming she smelt like Toledo bus stop and sweat. He couldn’t really tell the difference between that and the normal, vaguely unpleasant odor the apartment always had, but he let her go anyway. It gave him a moment to think, to figure out what the hell was happening in his life and what he was going to do to handle it. Jellybean couldn’t stay here. He had already made that clear. He would stay on the couch while she took his bed for the time being, but this was a small place and the two of them would not be able to fit comfortably for an extended period of time. Besides that, he knew it was just a matter of time before his mother started spewing hellfire in his direction.

 

It took him a minute to remember if Jellybean hated or loved banana peppers on her pizza. Things had never been easy between the two of them. Their parents made it difficult, always strained despite the efforts they made to be brother and sister. Maybe one day they would be able to fix that situation.

 

Just as his sister was stepping out of the shower, dragging herself across the floor and getting everything he owned wet, his phone started to ring. It was from an unknown number, but the area code said Toledo. Sometimes his mother would do this. She would pick up strangers’ phones or use a burner just so he had to answer. With a deep breath and a glare at Jellybean, he hit the answer button.

 

The anger was instantaneous. He could hear it in her voice how pissed off she was, and Gladys Jones was a forced to be reckoned with when she was angry. He remembered, vaguely, the one time he had ever seen her lose her shit on his father, right before the final split and the filing of divorce papers. Jughead had come home to a bonfire in the backyard and his mother pouring all the bottles of liquor onto the roaring flames while his sister danced around in nothing but an old sundress that was too tight around the shoulders, claiming she was a fire fairy and had brought down these flames to make sure Dad wouldn’t be sick anymore. He remembered looking into his mother’s eyes and being frightened by what he saw there. They looked empty, nothing but the echo of the fire burning there as she tossed the crushed bud of a cigarette into the heap.

 

“What the hell did you do to make your sister up and leave, Jughead? She left some note. And you let her show up? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

He steals himself for the unslot, taking a deep breath when she’s finished, and pushing out a steady, “You think I let her show up? She came here and I’m not turning her away because she’s my sister, no matter how much you wish that weren’t true. She came to visit because she said you’ve been making her work at the chop shop, charming people into giving over their shit. And you don’t think that’s royally fucked up?”

 

“I don’t need your judgements. I do what I can to get by and Jellybean has to learn she needs to earn her keep or she’ll end up like you.”

 

“And what in the hell do you think is wrong with me? The son you abandoned with the alcoholic father? The one you let get tossed into social services when I was young? The one you figured could handle his shit on his own? Fuck off, mom. I’m so tired of you throwing all your anger at dad onto me. This is bullshit. You want to treat me like your son now or do you want me to hang up and put my phone on do not disturb?”

 

There was a strange sort of fire in his heart he hadn’t expected. He was tired. He was tired of being walked on. He was tired of being the mediator between his parents, the eternal punching bag for their fucked up fued. He was tired of being stuck in the middle with his sister. He was too old and she was too young to be where they were.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jellybean deflate, grabbing her clothes and tossing them in her bag. Jughead set his phone down, uncaring about the explosion his mother was having on the other end of the line, and took them back out. 

 

“Get dressed. I have pizza coming. You’re not trying to run out on me already are you? You just showed up.”

 

She gave him a half hearted grin and hugged him quickly before running back into his room with a mouthed, “Thank you.”

 

He went over and picked back up his phone, hearing the tail end of his mom’s rant. “Are you even fucking listening to me, Jughead? What the hell is your problem lately? You think just because you graduate college you get to treat your mother like crap?”

 

“I graduated college all on my own, Mom. I’m the one drowning in debt now. I’m the one living in a shitty apartment trying to scrape together every penny because my parents are so caught up in their bullshittery they didn’t even remember I was graduating. I’m so fucking tired of this shit. Jellybean will come home when she feels like it, unless you want to drive out here and come get her, and honestly I get the feeling you’re way too lazy to bother. 

 

“Is that anyway to talk to me? Do you know how much I did for you?”

 

“Less than what you didn’t do for me. I’m hanging up now. Call again when you’re in a better mood. Or don’t. I really don’t give a shit tonight.”

 

He hung up his phone and tossed it to the side, trying to rub away the headache. Jellybean came up behind him and took a seat at the table. It felt strangely familiar, like when they were young and they would sit at the rickety old coffee table in the trailer, listening through the paper-thin walls as their parents screamed. He would hold her hand and promise her everything was going to be okay. He felt her hand sneak into his, offering a small squeeze. Why was it Jughead felt she was comforting him more this time around?

 

“She gets worse every year doesn’t she?” Jellybean said softly.

 

“She’s still your mom, Bean.”

 

“I wish she weren’t.”

 

He sighed, pulling her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. Let’s try not to focus on that. Do you still watch movies? Or are you too cool for that? I don’t any VHS tapes to feed your hipster soul.”

 

“Alright pot, I’m kettle, you’re black,” she snorted, moving toward the couch and dragging him there with her. “So, how’s life been for my favorite big brother?”

 

“I’m your only big brother, but I’ll take the compliment anyway. It’s been fine. Maybe better than fine, even.”

 

It didn’t take much prompting before he was gushing about Betty, telling Jellybean all about how sweet she was, how much she cared about him, and the slow, steady progression of their relationship. For her part, she seemed genuinely interested, asking questions about how they’d met all while stroking her hand through Hot Dog’s fur. At the end of his speal he felt like an overzealous idiot, but Jellybean was smiling at him.

 

“I’m happy for you, Jug. You deserve it.”

 

The pizza arrived not long after, and soon enough the siblings were gorging themselves on copious amounts of cheese, peppers, and breadsticks while an old 90s horror film flickered on his laptop in front of them. Halfway into the flick—just as the last, ominous swing of the killer’s axe came down and split one of the protagonists’ heads open—his phone started to ring. He groaned at the sight of another unknown number.

 

“Don’t answer it,” Jellybean said. “It’s Mom. She wants to yell again.”

 

“I should answer it. Maybe she’s calmed down and wants to be rational.”

 

She snorted, picking up the last slice of pizza and shoving it into her mouth. “Fat fucking chance, but whatever. You do you.”

 

Jughead pushed her lightly before picking up the phone, scurrying to the far back of the kitchen so as to not interrupt his sister’s movie time. She seemed exhausted, and not just from the trip. If he could offer her some teenage fun, then he was more than willing to make himself a little uncomfortable for a few days.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh.” It wasn’t his mom’s voice on the end of the line, but the soft, sweet hum of his girlfriend. He felt bad for being so clipped in his tone. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s Betty. My phone died so I’m suing my mom’s while it charges. Everything is so slow here and I’m just grateful she still has a landline. Apparently Edgar doesn’t believe in cellphones because of some bullshit conspiracy he came up with.”

 

“No, no. Sorry, I just didn’t know it was you and there’s been some… drama over here.”

 

“Tell me about it. What’s been happening on your end?”

 

“Well, my sister showed up out of nowhere and broke into my house. My mom called to scream at me because apparently it’s somehow my fault. Usual bullshit. I don’t really want to talk about it though, Betty. It’s been kind of a long day.”

 

He heard her voice soften on the other end of the line, “Are you sure, Juggie? I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help out? Maybe you should try reaching out to your mom to talk about it. Sometimes that can help. I know I’m not the model example, but I’m here trying to fix things with my mom.”

 

“What’s happening in my life is a lot different. My mom and I have never been on good terms.” He couldn’t help what happened next. Sometimes all that pent up anger lets itself out, just in the wrong direction. He was like his mother that way. “Listen, I said I don’t want to talk about it. You don’t need to project and try to fix whatever fucked up thing is happening with me because you’re having issues with your mom and sister.”

 

As it came out of his mouth, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. It was hurtful, a purposeful lashing out that was a byproduct of his poor mood from his mom’s attack. “Wait no, Betty I didn’t mean that.”

 

“You did. I could tell you did. It’s fine. Whatever. I just was trying to help but you don’t want it. That’s fine. We’re both stressed out right now so maybe I shouldn’t have called, anyway. I’m not in a great mood either.”

 

She was upset. He didn’t need to have a lot of dating experience to figure that one out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was short. It’s just been kind of a shitty day over here and I’m trying to deal with my sister being here and what I’m gonna do about that.”

 

“I understand. I shouldn’t have pushed when you told me to drop it. I really should go. Polly wants me to help put the twins to bed but I wanted to say goodnight before I did, in case my phone didn't’ charge quick enough. I missed you.”

 

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry, Betts. I… I’ll call you tomorrow?”

 

“If you want. I know you’re busy so don’t feel like you have to. Bye, Juggie. Sleep well. Maybe I’ll be able to meet your sister if she’s still around when I get back.”

 

Betty hung up without another word and Jughead tried to feel like he hadn’t imploded the best thing in his life. Things felt shaky, disturbed, but he tried not to jump to the worst conclusion and force himself into full-blown panic territory. 

 

“You okay, Jug?” Jellybean’s voice was quiet and the absence of the trite horror movie music lets him know she listened in on his call.

 

“Yeah, Bean, I’m fine. Come on, let’s finish up the movie.”

 

When his sister was tucked into bed and he had managed to make himself decently comfortable on the couch—despite Hot Dog deciding he needed to be at his feet—Jughead sent Betty a goodnight message. Her reply was quick: three single hearts. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped ease some of his worries as he eased into the worst sleep he’d had since graduation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 12: It's Complicated
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @tory-b and if you find a moment to leave a comment, I would be forever grateful!


	12. It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But is it really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people <3 an update! so soon! Thanks to my betas for being so quick with everything. I love. I stan. I adore. I know last chapter had some angst, but buckle up because there's a little bit more in this chapter. I promise everything will work out well in the end <3 I hope you enjoy!

A week later, Jellybean Jones was still living in Jughead’s bedroom, his mother had not called him back again, and it felt like Betty was avoiding him at every turn. Their conversations were short even when they bumped into each other in the hallway. She always had some sort of excuse to kiss and run, especially when he offered up a date idea. Somehow, his father had put together the pieces of the puzzle that the daughter he wanted to see was not with Gladys, but instead with Jughead, so he was trying harder than ever to see her for reasons unknown to probably all parties involved. So maybe his mother wasn’t calling, but his dad was incessant to the point that Jughead often found himself considering making a trip to the AD&D store and changing over his phone number. Sierra was breathing down his neck about the article deadline, but he hadn’t had much time to work on it with his kid sister hanging around, demanding attention she never received in the neglectful Jones house.

 

In no uncertain terms, it felt like everything he had been working toward was falling apart. On thursday, he had had a panic attack in the shower, and there were still miniature puncture wounds in his lip from where he’d bitten down to stay quiet. Jellybean was young; she didn’t deserve to have the burden of the world placed on her like he had. There was no escaping their family without a few scars but he’d be damned if he contributed to any of them.

 

“Are you okay?” Jellybean asked Saturday morning, marking one week since she’d showed up at his apartment unannounced. “Because I get the feeling you’re not but you’re so worried it’s going to upset me that you’re doing that stupid thing you do and bottling it up inside in hopes it’ll go away or you’ll perish.”

 

He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. Maybe he was trying to shelter her and by doing so ignoring whatever bullshit was bothering him. He had even been ignoring Archie’s calls, which got him frequent and frantic ‘dude are you okay???’ text messages that he only answered to avoid a large ginger man breaking down his door at two in the morning. 

 

“No,” he said finally. “No I don’t think I am.”

 

“Yeah I didn’t think so. You look like hell, Jug. Your eye bags have eye bags and I don’t think I’ve seen you without a cup of coffee in your hands since I showed up. If… if I’m causing a problem I can leave. I did sort of show up out of nowhere demanding you let me live with you until everything with mom blew over. That’s sort of selfish typical Jones behavior.” She grimaced down at her microwave waffles, pushing them off her plate and onto his. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

 

Jughead sighed and pulled her into a hug. “Bean, I’m not upset at you for being here. I’m glad we’ve been able to spend some time together. But I also don’t have the kind of free time I had in college. Not that I had any of it then either, but there’s a lot of tightrope walking, balancing plates while they’re spinning kind of stuff going on right now. I have a job that I actually care about keeping, and not just because it’s a paycheck, but an apartment that I have to pay rent on and friends who want me to pay attention to them and… And a girlfriend I’ve sort of been a dick to.”

 

“Wait… why the hell have you been a dick to your girlfriend?”

 

“I didn’t ask for your judgements, Forsythia. She was trying to give me advice to talk to Mom and Dad, but it ended up being misguided since she obviously doesn’t know the… nuances of my relationships with them. It was nice, but I sort of snapped because I short circuit when people do nice things to me. I don’t know how to handle it. So I just shut down.”

 

“I always knew you were an android.” Jellybean pulled back from his grasp and grabbed his face roughly, looking him over with the kind of scrutiny he would expect from someone much older and probably a lot wiser. Or maybe he was just still remembering her as the little kid who had to crawl into his bed at night when their parents were fighting, banging loudly on the trailer walls, making their whole house-on-wheels rattle with anger. “A stupid, defective one. From everything you’ve told me, your girl seems really nice. And not to be soft or anything, but maybe you deserve someone nice and maybe you think you don’t because of everything going on in your life right now so you think it’d be easier to just force it all away. . Why don’t you, I don’t know, open up to her about everything instead?”

 

“I’m not sure, ‘hey I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole, but my dad is a notorious drunken gang leader and my mom had connections with the black market so I have a lot of pent up trauma,’ is a good way to really start of a conversation with the girl you think you might be in love with. It’s way more complicated than you’re making it seem.”

 

“Bullshit!” She dropped her hands from his face, standing up. He could see in her eyes she was filled with righteous indignation. It was a look he’d glimpsed a few times on his own face, like the time he’d been photographed at a protest on his college campus. “I’m so tired of everything being complicated. Mom says it when she talks about you. You say it when you talk about Mom. Dad says it whenever he calls asking for money. It’s not fucking complicated. Dad’s a drug addict. Mom’s a criminal. We’re caught in a war path in the middle because two explosive and volatile personalities decided to have children. It’s not fair that we’re constantly caught in the explosion. That’s not your place to be. It’s not my fucking place to be. This isn’t complicated, Jughead, you’re just making it that way because ‘it’s complicated’ is the only thing we’ve ever been told.

 

“Everyone has family garbage they have to deal with. Everyone. And you know what, at least you don’t have to live under that roof anymore and deal with it. At least you can be an adult and live your own life while I’m stuck there counting down the days until I can pack up all my shit and leave for good. Because you know what’s complicated, Jughead? Complicated is pretending that my girlfriend is my best friend to my mom because I don’t know if she’ll have a good day or a bad day. Complicated is not wanting her to lord it over my head what a good mom she is for accepting me for who I am. Complicated is dodging behind the bleachers so I can kiss her. But this? Our family? Jughead, that isn’t fucking complicated. You’re just afraid that she’s going to find out about it and reject you. Saying something is complicated is a coward’s way out and my big brother is not a coward. He’s the strongest person I know and I love him. So nut the fuck up, idiot, before I have to disown you.”

 

There was a lot of him to unpack there, a lot to decipher in his sister’s explosion. Parts of it he had known, about her girlfriend and the complicated dance she had to do to keep everything a secret from their ever-enigmatic mother. He had even met her once during a secret Skype conversation; she had seemed pretty even through the poor static connection. Maybe he’d been more selfish than he had ever intended to be. He had escaped the holds of FP and Gladys Jones. Just barely alive, covered in scars, but standing. All Jellybean had right now was the light at the end of the tunnel she kept chasing even though it felt far away.

 

“I’m sorry. I guess I never thought about it like that. You’re right. I’m scared to know what she’ll think when I tell her everything. And that’s not fair to her or me or anyone. But the fact of the matter is I acted like an asshole and now she’s half avoiding me.”

 

Jellybean plopped next to him on the couch, pulling Hot Dog into her lap. She didn’t say much as she stroked the dog’s soft fur, seemingly mulling over the conundrum in her head. “Did you, like, apologize?”

 

He opened his mouth and snapped it shut quickly. “No.”

 

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot  _ and _ an emotional cripple. What the hell does that girl see in you?”

 

“Honestly, I could not fucking tell you. Maybe I’m easy on the eyes.”

 

Jellybean’s face twisted in disgust and she shook her head. “That absolutely cannot be it. Anyway, I’d say that step one to fixing any problem ever is to apologize and open up and admit you did something wrong. I know that isn’t a Jughead Jones quality, but it’s not a bad one to work toward.”

 

“Coming from you, that’s rich. You still haven’t admitted that you flushed my favorite Power Ranger toy down the toilet when we were kids and that’s why it flooded.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jughead. That was obviously the dog.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” he sighed, unable to keep the smile off his face.

 

“No, you.”

 

He promised Jellybean he would figure out a way to apologize to Betty soon, hopefully after he calmed himself down from a heart attack every time he looked at his phone and his dad stopped trying to weasel an address out of him. He was feeling a little better about the situation, more hopeful. In the interim he had also managed to convince Jellybean that she would get on a bus back to Toledo come Monday morning. It gave his mother enough time to cool off so she wasn’t a demon when her daughter came back into town, but also gave them a few more days to enjoy each other's company without having to rush a goodbye.

 

They went to his favorite diner Sunday morning, the place that he had marked as his and Betty’s spot. Lucky for him his least favorite waitress wasn’t there today and they were treated and served like normal patrons. Jellybean fished out a crumpled handful of ones from her purse to use as a tip and they walked around for a little while, popping into thrift stores in hopes of finding a spring formal dress that fit her particular tastes. It felt normal. Domestic. And Jughead could feel the ache in his heart. The fact of the matter was, he couldn’t afford to take care of his sister right now, especially when she was on the precipice of adulthood. As much as it pained him to have to say goodbye, he knew it would only be a  _ for now _ situation. After she left he was going to look into how much of a strain it would be to move into one of the two bedroom apartments in the building. It was the least he could do.

 

“What about this one?” Jellybean asked, pulling out a silver, sequined dress from one of the racks. “It looks like a flapper dress.”

 

“I don’t know. I thought you wanted to wear your converse with it. The black ones. Because apparently the only color you wear now is black.”

 

She stuck out her tongue before sliding the dress between the racks again. “Spoil sport. What about something sort of like… vintage? You know, 1950s flare. And then I can wear my converse and an ascot in case I get a hickey so no one will be any the wiser.”

 

Jughead blanched. “See, but now I’ll know when you send me pictures and I’ll be sitting there trying to bleach my brain.”

 

“Fine, fine. I’ll wear one of my bandanas instead. I have a lot so I’m sure I can find one to match.”

 

They scoured the isles for a few more minutes until they stumbled upon a few dresses she liked. All of them were in the swing style and eventually they ended up bringing a black and white polka dot dress up to the register. She couldn’t stop talking about one of the bandanas she had at home that matched perfectly, one that her girlfriend had given her as a birthday present a few months back when they had first started their secret relationship. When she looked down to grab her wallet, Jughead bolted to the cash register and had the dress paid for and bagged by the time she made her way over to him.

 

“You big dumb idiot. You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“No, I didn’t, but I wanted to,” he said softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Because you’re my sister and I love you and I want to see you happy. Besides, if I have to send you back to mom, I’m at least going to make sure you have a good spring formal. Say ‘hi’ to your girlfriend for me, too. Tell her I said next time you decide to take a trip she should come with.”

 

Her eyes lit up and she beamed, nodding once. “Will do. Thank you, Jug. For always having my back even when you forget to have your own. You’re the best brother anyone could ever have asked for.”

 

“That’s arguable, but I like to think I’m not the worst.”

 

Jughead was feeling good by the time they made it back to the apartment complex. Jellybean was going to be okay. His parents had yet to ruin anything for him. And, most importantly, he felt more comfortable and confident in sitting down with Betty and explaining to her why it was he had acted the way he had.

 

As they walked toward his door, an uneasy feeling began to overtake him. There was a loud thumping that normally he would have attributed to a fight over at the Mason, Klump, Keller apartment, but the closer they got the less the sound appeared to be coming from there. No. It was coming from his apartment. Behind that closed door he could hear Hot Dog barking his head off and the distinctly familiar shrillness of two people arguing.

 

“Oh shit,” he heard Jellybean murmur behind him. She echoed his own thoughts, because the second he pressed his ear to the door he heard his mother screaming about something. “We should run.”

 

“Bean, this is my apartment. I can’t just turn back and pretend like this isn’t happening. They’re not going to go away. Time for us to face the music, and you are coming with me. I refuse to deal with this shit show on my own.”

 

She grumbled from behind him, but his grip on her wrist kept her from bolting like she wanted to. When he opened the door the yelling got louder and Hot Dog hurtled toward him. Not much had changed between his parents. Gladys Jones was still the same, with her three star tattoos. FP still smelled like alcohol. And despite the lines of aged etched into their skin, this felt uncannily like a memory out of his worst nightmares. Except they were standing in his kitchen now, not theirs, and for once he actually held some power in the relationship.

 

“What the hell are you two doing in my house?”

 

Jellybean held Hot Dog close, leaning down so she could help soothe his worried yelps. She avoided eye contact with either of her parents. It stirred something inside him, that protective, big brother instinct, and he stepped between her and them.

 

“Boy, nice digs you got here. Way better than that shit hole we used to live in. And you haven’t offered anything to your old man?”

 

“Jughead, is that anyway to speak to your own mother? I fucking raised you and you’re treating me like trash the dog dragged in.”

 

Their words were cacophonous and he could already feel a headache pooling at the corners of his brain. His shoulders tightened and his body reflexively clenched for the onslaught of their words. His mother was complaining about him letting Jellybean show up here uninvited, and his father was complaining about not letting him know that she was here and inviting him to visit.

 

“I’m going to stop you both right there,” Jughead sighed. 

 

They kept talking anyway, louder and louder, until they were spinning on each other, screaming, rehashing old arguments that had plagued this family for decades. His anger reached a boiling point and he wasn’t sure what inside of him gathered enough strength to bang his fist hard enough into the wall that the sound echoed around the room and silenced both his parents. 

 

“Shut the fuck up! No. No neither of you get to talk anymore. You came to my apartment uninvited. You showed up out of nowhere, no warning, not shit, expecting me to deal with whatever baggage and bullshit always gets carried around between us. And I’m not dealing with it. Not now, and not fucking ever. So I’m going to tell you both to get out of my place, before I call the cops on you for trespassing.”

 

“Like hell you will, kid,” Gladys bit out. “Or I’ll claim you kidnapped your sister. Or maybe your dad did. Hell, you might have done it together for all I know.”

 

Jellybean steadied herself. “No you won’t, Mom! I’m seventeen. I’ll tell them that I ran away from home to get away from you for awhile and they’ll believe me with the number of times the neighbors have called CPS.”

 

“You really want to test me like that tonight, Forsythia? After all the shit I’ve done to keep you safe and away from your alcoholic father?”

 

“Oh yeah? Like how you kept Jughead safe by taking him with us? Oh wait, you didn’t, and every time I tried to have a relationship with him you lost your mind!”

 

Anarchy descended again, sending them into a game of who could raise their voices the loudest. Hot Dog was running around barking again. He could hear Toni banging on the floorboards from upstairs, shouting something he couldn't make out amongst the myriad of other voices. His phone buzzed and he knew exactly what he was going to see on the screen.

 

**Archie:**

 

_ Dude what the hell? Is everything okay down there? _

_ I’ve got like 4 complaints already _

_ Toni says there’s people screaming _

_ R U safe? _

 

The last thing he needed right now was Archie Andrews trying to lend a well-meaning but aggravating hand to the situation that was already a mess in his apartment. He sent back a hurried text explaining that his parents were in town, having a bit of a spat, and it was something he was trying to deal with quickly. Veronica had texted him too, a warning about too many noise complaints and having to call the police.

 

He felt himself start to spiral. Everything around him was out of hand, out of his control, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He stood there, watching his parents argue, his little sister scream, and his dog spin himself out in worry. That familiar gnawing in the pit of his stomach picked up and his breathing became labored. The room was tight. It was too tight and there was too much noise and all he could think about were all the nights he had hidden under the bed, covering his ears and letting out silent sobs as he prayed for something to put an end to all the terrible things in his life.

 

Things had finally started to look good. He had a job and a girlfriend and friends that cared about him. He had a roof over his head on his terms. And his parents, the people who had ruined so much of his life, had taken and taken and taken until there was nothing left for him, were about to destroy everything good he had made for himself.

 

It was all falling apart and there would be no one around to help him pick up the pieces.

 

Through the chaos, he made out the small tap of a knock against his door. It started off quiet, but eventually the single raps become a hurried tap and he could just barely make out a voice behind the door asking if everything was alright.

 

Was it ever going to be alright again?

 

Jughead pulled himself away from the kitchen and dared to open the door. The screaming had calmed down into a hurried and hushed argument. At least they had the self-respect to let him open the door. Much to his surprise, it was not Veronica Lodge-Andrews standing there with a note kicking him out of his apartment, but Betty Cooper, looking nervous and worried and so stunningly beautiful he almost started crying.

 

“Betty. Hi. What are you doing here?”

 

“I heard the noise. I heard the screaming and I figured whatever was happening wasn’t okay and I needed to come check on you, Jug. I also wanted to say I’m sorry. I know right now isn’t the best time for it, but I needed to say it. I’m sorry, and you were right. I was trying to force myself into a situation you didn’t ask me to be in so I could help fix your problems because I was so wrapped up in my own family drama that I needed to fix something. I was projecting. I don’t know anything about your family so it was unfair of me to even pretend like I did. You don’t have to tell me. You can open up whenever you’re ready to, but I shouldn’t have pushed and I shouldn’t have avoided you after I came back either. Not when you needed me. I was being selfish because I was hurt. I was being selfish because my family is a mess and I didn’t want everything around me to implode. And I’m being selfish now, taking you away from whatever is happening in there just to apologize, but I felt so bad and Veronica texted me telling me to come make sure you weren’t being murdered and the thought of it scared me so bad that I had to say it all in case anything did happen. I’m just… I’m so sorry and I need you to know that I’m here for you in whatever capacity you want me to be. Whether that’s loving girlfriend who waits until everything has blown over to comfort you, or confidant that you can open up to during whatever this is. I just… I’m sorry. And I’ll stop saying I’m sorry now. Being with Alice Cooper for an entire weekend makes you feel like you have to say sorry for everything. And please, I’m begging you, tell me to shut up now or I’ll never stop talking.” She grinned up at him sheepishly, pretty pink lips parted ever so softly.

 

The chaos around him died down, even just a little, and he focused on her. She was like an earthly angel and he couldn’t even begin to fathom how she knew he needed her when he did. He stepped outside of the apartment, closing the door gently behind him, before pulling her into a tight hug. Betty relaxed against him, tangling her hands in his hair. Nothing mattered more in that moment than the gentle thunder of her heart and the softness of her body pressed against his.

 

“I’m sorry, too,” he finally said when he found his voice. “I’m sorry I got defensive and angry because I was hurting and in a bad place. I shouldn’t have said what I said to you when you were just trying to help, and it was cruel of me to say what I did. I never want to act like my parents, but honestly their arguments are the only ones I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how to handle things like this so I shut down and mimicked which is uncalled for and inappropriate. I have to learn to be better at this.”

 

“I have to learn to to be better too, Jug. Relationships are a two way street, you know? I grew up with arguments ending with everyone being passive aggressive to each other until someone caved or there were flowers on the table. No one ever actually apologized. No one ever talked it out. So I’m sorry that I projected all my problems onto you like that and acted in that way. I care so much about you.”

 

Jughead kissed her softly, nothing more than a lingering peck, but he felt the tension release from his body as they melted together. After a few minutes, he pulled back. He was still acutely aware of the disaster going on in the apartment behind him. Even without the buzzing in his pocket—no doubt a very frustrated landlord—he knew there was a problem he needed to fix.

 

“My dad’s an alcoholic. He’s also a gang leader so he’s dangerous. I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid to see how you’d react. And my mom isn’t any better. She runs a chop shop in Toledo where she makes my little sister charm customers into giving over their things at a discounted price. Jellybean showed up at my house because she needed to be away from that and I’ve been so focused on her lately. I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest with you. I was just scared about how you’d react.”

 

“Oh, Jug.” She reached up, touching his cheek gently. He could feel the sweetness lingering behind the fluid, circular motions of her hand. His eyes fluttered closed as he relaxed into her touch. “My family is in a cult. A literal, actual, real life cult. I don’t know what’s going to happen with them, maybe ever. Who am I to judge your family drama? I just think you’re incredibly strong for handling everything they way you do.”

 

“God, how are you the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in the entire world?”

 

Betty giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sometimes you meet someone that is so utterly perfect for you that everything falls into place easier than it has before. And that’s how I feel about you, Jug. We have to work at things, just like every normal couple does, but I’m grateful that I get to work on them with you. I know you’ve got to deal with whatever is happening inside your apartment right now, so tell me what you want from me. I can go, or I can stay. I won’t be offended no matter what, I just need you to know that I am here for you, in whatever capacity makes sense for the moment.”

 

He mulled it over for a few seconds, trying to decide the best course of action to run in a situation like this. Betty could be a distraction for his parents. They would have something except their mutual hatred to focus on. Betty was his first ever girlfriend, and he sort of hoped his last ever, so introducing her would be a big deal. As much as he wanted Jellybean to meet Betty, he didn’t trust his parents to treat the situation with any form of respect. And he was afraid she might run the second she saw what he could turn into.

 

Finally, Jughead nodded, tangling their hands together. “Okay. Let’s go back inside. I want you to meet my parents. They aren’t good people, but they’re still my mine. Besides, I think you and my sister will get along really well. I’ll warn you that they yell, curse, scream, and are in general absolutely terrible to each other. But if you can deal with that then I want you to come inside with me.”

 

“Lead the way, Captain.”

 

It was terrifyingly quiet when he opened the door and walked inside. Jellybean was sitting on the floor with Hot Dog, tears streaking through the mascara she’d double-layered on this morning, while both his parents sat at the table drinking beers they’d nicked from his fridge without asking. He felt a bitterness on his tongue as he swallowed. He would have thrown out any alcohol in the vicinity if he had known they would be coming. Then again, Gladys and FP Jones never did make anything easy on him.

 

“Mom, Dad, JB, this is my girlfriend, Betty. She lives upstairs and she’s an elementary school teacher. She’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me, so for the love of God, play nice.”

 

Betty blushed beside him, pressing closer to his side but offering them all a polite smile and a wave. “Hi, everyone. It’s a pleasure to get to meet you all.”

 

“Bullshit,” Jellybean snorted, hoping to her feet. She wiped the smeared mascara off as best she could and held out her hand to Betty. “Nice to finally meet my idiot brother’s elusive girlfriend. I’ve heard a lot about you. You seem good for him. So, um, thanks, I think, for making him happy. I appreciate that he’s not an annoying emo moping around anymore and that we talk on the phone about things other than Sweet Pea’s dogs.”

 

“Well, I’m glad to help. Jughead makes me happy, too. He’s the best person I’ve ever been with. He’s so talented and smart and I really care about him.”

 

“That’s cute. Gross, but cute.”

 

Gladys raised an eyebrow, looking over Betty with the same kind of critical look she always gave everyone. “Looks like you outdid yourself, Jug. Don’t fuck this one up. Never really took you as the dating type, though. I always thought you’d be on the outside of all that shit, that your dad and I had taught you better.”

 

“I’m going to be happy in spite of all the bullshit you put me through,” he answered curtly. Betty gave his hand a squeeze, silent support that she was there for him no matter what, that she was his rock during this moment. “I’m glad you got to meet Betty, but I meant what I said before. I want you both out of my apartment sooner rather than later. You aren’t welcome here, especially without asking first. This is my life you’re intruding on. I have a job and relationship and things to do outside of whatever familial bullshit you’re all trying to stir up. You don’t get to walk into my place and steal beer from my fridge and act like this is normal. So please. Pack up and get out.”

 

An eerie silence followed and he could hear the slight click of Jellybean’s tongue against the roof of her mouth. They all waited with baited breath for the inevitable explosion that would happen. For once, it never came. Gladys was the first to stand. She always did know when she had lost a battle and was smart enough to retreat. “Alright, Junior, you got it. Jellybean, pack up your stuff. We’re leaving.”

 

“JB, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” Jughead turned to her, soft and sweet with his sister. “You can stay.”

 

“Thanks, Jug, but it’s okay. Mom and I talked it out a little and we agreed that I would come home and we’d actually start talking about things. We’ll see how it goes, but I’m going to stay with her at the hotel tonight and then we’re going back to Toledo tomorrow morning.” She pulled her brother in for a tight hug. “Thank you for letting me stay here with you. It means a lot to know you have my back.”

 

“Always, Bean. And remember that worst comes to worst you’re always welcome here, even if I have to make up the couch.”

 

“I know, Jug. I know. I love you. Call more and take care of yourself. And thank you for the dress, too. I really love it.”

 

His father, not quite intoxicated enough to be belligerent, didn’t put up much of a fight either. He argued, leered at Betty in a way that made Jughead’s skin crawl, but all-in-all he stumbled out of the apartment without much complaint. Jughead asked Betty to wait inside as he helped his dad outside.

 

“You didn’t drive, did you?”

 

FP shrugged, pointing to his bike parked haphazardly on the curb. “I always do. Damn cops think they can stop me just by taking a piece of plastic away. Fat chance I listen to those assholes.”

 

“Jesus. Did you get stupider in old age? You’ll go to jail if you do that. Stay still, I’m calling you an Uber. And then you’re going to pay me back by coming and picking up your bike tomorrow, sober, without saying goodbye. I don’t want to deal with it now or ever.”

 

“Why are you so mean to me, boy? What the hell did I do to you?” He stumbled onto the curb, taking a seat near the sewer grate. “You hate me that much?”

 

“Unfortunately, you’re my dad, so I’m not sure I could ever hate you. But I’m tired of you and Mom being in charge of how I live my life. Not anymore. I refuse to be part of that, to deal with that anymore. I’m my own person and that’s how it’s going to be. So I mean it, and I’m asking you nicely to leave me alone. If I decide I want to talk to you again, I’ll reach out first. No more calling me for money when your funds run dry. I’m not going to bail you out of prison with money I don’t have. I’m not going to deal with this shit anymore. I’m not some sixteen-year-old kid chasing after your approval. I’m an adult. Just let me go, Dad. For the love of fuck, please, just stop.”

 

FP regarded him strangely and for a moment, Jughead was afraid there would be a fight right here in the parking lot of his apartment building. But his father sat back and nodded. “Alright. Alright, Jug. I’ll let you rest.”

 

“Thank you.” Finally, his dad was doing the right thing. It had taken FP all these years to do something good, but at least it was finally happening. Jughead called the Uber and made sure his dad got inside before he finally dared to go back to his apartment.

  
Betty had cleaned up some of the mess his family left, tossing away the empty beer bottles and curling up on the couch with a disgruntled looking Hot Dog. He slid in beside her with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “Today sucked.”

 

“I know. But I’m proud of you for standing up to your parents. That’s more than I did this weekend. I just sat there and took every terrible thing Alice and Polly threw at me about how terrible I was and my garbage lifestyle. They asked if I was seeing anyone and then they wouldn’t stop hounding me about you. It was exhausting.”

 

“I’m just glad we’re alone now. I hope it didn’t seem like I was ashamed of you, trying to push them out so quickly. If anything I didn’t want them to make me look like an asshole. I care a lot about you and I didn’t want to risk ruining anything between us, not when it’s so good.”

 

“I didn’t think that at all, Jug. I bet if my parents and my sister showed up unannounced like that I’d probably be in just as big of a hurry to get them out of here so you didn’t have to deal with their crazy. I’m grateful I got to meet them, though. Maybe it’s silly or childish, but hearing you call me your girlfriend to your parents made me feel good.” Betty looked down, trying to hide the faint blush on her cheeks.

 

Jughead grinned, pulling her close and kissing her sweetly. “Well, you’re the first person I’ve ever said that about. I feel like the luckiest guy alive being with you, Betty. My family is complicated and messy and I didn’t want that to bleed into us.”

 

“And I’m the luckiest girl. Don’t you forget that, Jughead Jones. All relationships are complicated in their own way, but it’s a show of strength that we figured this out. I’d argue we’re a little better now than we were before because of it. Now, how about you go take a shower to calm down and relax? I had a pork loin pulled out upstairs that I was going to make for dinner so I can go and grab that and we can have a proper feast tonight. We can curl up on the couch and just relax. I think we could both use it.”

 

“You had me at food.” He kissed her one last time before making his way to the shower. The hot water beating down on his skin helped ease some of the tension in his body that his parents and sister had brought. When he left the bathroom he could smell the pork and a wave of domesticity washed over him, bringing with it that same buzzing excitement he always felt around Betty.

 

Jughead snuck up behind her, pressing a kiss to her neck and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the vegetables she was chopping. She laughed and leaned back against him. “That’s dangerous, you know. I have a knife in my hands.”

 

“Worth the risk to get to hold you. I missed you this last week.”

 

She sighed, nodding. “I missed you too. But things are good now. I promise you. No matter what comes our way I know we’ll be able to work through it. Always.”

 

“Always. Will you stay tonight? I’m sure you could teach me a few more things in the same vein of what we did that night after Gryphons and Gargoyles. And maybe I could get another pole dancing lesson?”

 

“I like the sound of that, Jughead Jones.” She giggled, spinning to face him. The pork was left nearly forgotten, at least until the beeping of the oven and the smell of burnt carrots brought them out of their frenzied kisses. The pizza they ordered tasted pretty good, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 13: Not Safe For Work


	13. Not Safe for Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We reach the climax. You know, literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello everyone. Here is it, the second to last chapter, which is, for all intents and purposes, more appropriately the last full chapter as the next chapter serves as more of an epilogue. This is sort of the moment I've been building up to and I hope you all enjoy it. I cannot believe how many people who have read and liked this fanfiction, I'm genuinely so honored. I'll get sappier in the final chapter, but for now, thank you so so much.
> 
> Follow my betas @indiebughead and @bettscoopr <3

Jughead watched Betty’s face eagerly as she skimmed over the article he had placed in front of her. Both her edits and Sierra’s had made their way into the final cut of his story and he was excited for her to read everything he’d poured into it now that it was published. This, like many things he wrote that involved Betty as a subject, was deeply personal to him. This was a story about his slow and steady struggle with his sexuality, with the stigma that comes with anyone figuring it out, and with the criticism anyone on the asexuality spectrum can face from a society that doesn’t understand them at their core. He started with graduation and advanced the plot to all the struggles that came after.

 

_ You aren’t going to have a single thing figured out,  _ he had written, almost trying to convince himself of it.  _ And that’s okay. You graduate college and you think, “Man I have to have everything in my life figured out, following this way too specific roadmap that my guidance counselor back in high school helped me make.” But it’s never going to be that easy, because life isn’t that easy. _

 

_ It’s hard to be the 23-year-old virgin when a staggering portion of society values sexual connections more than anything else. As a man, when I tell people I haven’t had sex yet, I’m immediately hit with a criticism to my masculinity and the toxic vibes can be borderline suffocating sometimes. It can be hard sometimes to remember that I don’t need to prove myself to anyone. The girl I settled down with—the person I care about most—she doesn’t care about some embarrassing moniker or the half-hearted jabs from our friends. _

 

_ You find that person, that one, and everything else just sort of clicks into place. _

 

She had cried the first time she read it, scolding him for sending her something like that in the middle of the school day despite the fact that she was the one who insisted she read it during her lunch period. It felt good to get that kind of approval, even if she did print it out and take a giant red pen to it. After Sierra and Betty were done there wasn’t an inch of space that hadn’t been lovingly marked up. Betty’s comments were sweeter in tone, but just as biting as his boss’. He was a better writer at the end of it all though, and when Sierra handed him the magazine, with his name written underneath one of the articles tucked into the pages—even if it was just a quarter of a page—he nearly started crying himself.

 

It was silly, how he rushed home to show it off like some third grader with a favored piece of artwork from class or an A+ on his science fair project. When he opened the door to his apartment and saw her with a copy of the magazine already in her lap, well, he had never felt better about himself.

 

“It’s amazing, Jughead,” Betty breathed, pulling him down for a quick kiss. “You’re amazing. I know how hard you worked on all of this, and even with your mom and your sister and your dad showing up uninvited you did it. Is it stupid if I think we should frame it? Or is that my elementary school teacher side coming out? Where I want to frame everything because I’m so proud of it.”

 

“It absolutely is, but we can frame it if you want to. I’d be honored to end up on a bulletin board on your wall.”

 

She giggled, setting the magazine aside so she could move into his lap, kissing along the curve of his neck until she reached his lips again. “You already are. I have this cork board behind my desk and the picture I took of you on our first date is pinned there. Some of the kids still remember you by the way. They ask me how Mr. Cooper is doing.”

 

“I will never not be honored to be Mr. Cooper. You know that, right?”

 

“I’ll have to remember that. You know, for the future. Whatever it may bring.”

 

Her voice was teasing, but he couldn’t help it when he felt the reality of her words as they sank in. Sometimes Jughead forgot that this hadn’t been his world forever, that Betty sitting in his lap and loving him was not something he had for the past 23 years of his life. This was something special, and yet so perfectly intrinsic to his life that he had a hard time remembering a time that she was not part of it. They slotted so perfectly together. When he pushed, she pulled. They had figured out a dance so beautiful and unique, so wonderfully them: Betty and Jughead.

 

Sometimes the dance wasn’t with words. He couldn’t count the number of times they had found themselves in the kitchen of his dingy apartment, chasing each other with spoonfuls of cake batter. The day following his family’s departure, Archie had taken him to the hardware store and, with Veronica’s approval, the two of them made him a spare key. There were so many times she came knocking on his door, it was getting ridiculous that she couldn’t just walk in and make herself at home. With her, everywhere was home.

 

“We can’t exactly cut the coupons you asked for help with if you’re in my lap, Betts.” That didn’t stop him from placing his hands on her waist, pulling her close so he could nipple along her collarbone. He’d been getting bolder lately, handsier. Ever since his parents left he felt like he was flying high and sailing smooth toward a destination he deserved.

 

“I’m bored clipping right now. I need to do something else.”

 

Jughead laughed, slipping his hand under her shirt to feel the softness of her alabaster skin. “You? Bored of coupon clipping? Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend? Have you been body snatched?”

 

“Don’t be mean, Juggie. Maybe I just feel like expanding our Friday night horizons. After all, once school is out for the summer we’re going to have a lot of time on our hands.”

 

“Just three months until I get uninterrupted Betty time? What the hell am I going to do with myself?”

 

“Go to work and dream about me lounging around your apartment missing you. Accompany me to Hobby Jobby with me so I can get the decorations I need for my room redesign. Can you believe they’re moving me to the forties pod? I’ve been in Room 39 since I started at that school and suddenly because they brought on a new teacher I need to be in 42? It’s bullshit. School politics at it’s finest. I’m just glad they didn’t move me into a portable. There’s no loyalty anymore!”

 

She was always so passionate, and he found himself grinning at her fire as he traced along the bottom hem of her jeans. He swore he could feel her temperature rising. “I thought you were going to be closer to Archie’s room now, though? Won’t that make your weird games easier?”

 

“No, it means he’s going to take it as an opportunity to bother me with kids poorly playing the tambourine whenever he gets the chance and disturbing valuable learning. All because he’s bitter he lost kickball this year.”

 

“Smart, athletic, funny, and dedicated. That’s why I love you, Betty Cooper.”

 

The slow oscillation of her hips stilled and he heard the breath catch in her throat. For a moment, he was worried he had made a misstep. Maybe he read the situation wrong and this wasn’t where they were at in their relationship. Sure, they had yet to go all the way, but with every passing day he was more and more comfortable with the idea of the future—their future—and with the promise of forever. It seemed so natural to say what he had been thinking for months.

 

“I um… I’ll take it back if it made you uncomfortable.” He tried to laugh it off, tried to hide the fear that was seeping into his veins like ice. “Or we can ignore that it happened.”

 

“No,” Betty said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She pulled on his hair so she was looking back up at him. “I want you to say it again. Louder.”

 

“I love you, Betty Cooper.”

 

“Jughead Jones, I love you.”

 

They were on each other in an instant, heated kisses and broken moans filtering through the air. She could hardly keep her hands off of him. The feeling was mutual as he pulled at her tight-fitting jeans, frustrated by the lack of physical connection. He needed to feel her skin. He needed to touch every inch of her. He needed her. He needed Betty.

 

“Tonight,” he pulled back, panting, “I want to have sex with you tonight, Betty. No. No, I want to, God this is going to sound so cheesy, but I want to make love to you.”

 

Her expression softened and she cupped his cheeks. “Are you sure, Jughead? I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you into anything. Just because we love each other doesn’t mean we have to have sex. Lots of people love each other without doing it. This is a big step and I don’t want you to regret it.”

 

“I couldn’t ever, Betty, because it’s with you. I want this. I want to be with you. I want to take that last step forward. So please, tonight. Just you and me and us forever.”

 

“Then tonight it is.” She kissed him again, deeper, slower, like she was trying to pull all of the breath he had inside right out of his lungs. “Then I guess it’s only fair I admit something to you.” She moved closer, leaning down and sucking on his earlobe, ghosting cool breath across his skin. Jughead shivered and bucked up against her, slowly rolling hips. “I get so turned on thinking about the fact that you’re a virgin, that I’m the first woman you’re ever going to be with, that I’m the only woman you’re ever going to be with. I get to shape you however I want. No one else to spoil your mind with thoughts of what you should do or shouldn’t do. I get to make you perfectly mine, however I want. I’ll be the first woman’s name you ever moan while you paint my pussy with cum.”

 

Jughead shivered, barely able to keep his mind straight as he took in her admissions. This wasn’t fair. Betty was going to kill him, or he was going to cum just from her dirty talk and they would be finished before they even started. He tried to steel himself, dragging his nails along the exposed skin of her back. She shivered and moaned, rocking forward to chase her pleasure.

 

He fumbled with her bra for only a minute this time. Practice really did make perfect, and getting Betty’s tits to come out and play was an art he was proud to have mastered. She purred under his touch, pulling the scrunchie out of her hair so her beautiful blonde locks fell like a halo of light around her shoulders.

 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” she promised, pulling him up for another kiss. “What do you want first, Juggie? Anything.”

 

The tenderness of the sentiment behind her sultry words touched him deeply. This was her way of giving him control, even in a situation where she clearly preferred to play dominant. Anything they did, any move she made, would be done only after his explicit consent. However slow or however fast he needed, Betty was ready and willing to play.

 

“I….I’ll admit I may or may not have been having dreams about you dancing for me on the pole again. You were just so hot, Betts.”

 

She giggled and removed herself from his lap. He bemoaned the loss of her warmth, but the second he saw her shimmy out of her jeans, he knew it would all be worth it. Her breasts bounced with every subtle movement, every purposeful swing of her hips intoxicating him as she slowly wrapped herself around the pole in his living room.

 

“You better be watching, Juggie, because I’m a lot better sober than I was drunk. I want you to memorize everything I do. You don’t take your eyes off of me unless I say so. Understood?”

 

He took a shaky breath and nodded, scanning his eyes along every inch of her skin. He found constellations in her freckles and birthmarks he never knew existed. The edge of her lace panties hugged the curve of her ass as she spun around before him. “Yes, Ma’am,” he teased.

 

“Oh, save that one for later. I like it. But right now, I want you to be Juggie, and I’ll be Betts, like our very own Bonnie and Clyde. You don’t ever stop watching me. And I won’t ever stop watching you.”

 

With a single nod in her direction, Betty resumed her dance. Jughead was practically drunk on the little sway of her hips, the way she rolled the pole between her breasts. His cock twitched in his pants as he imagined himself positioned between them rocking and fucking her until he painted her lips white. It was a filthy thought that he safely tucked away for later. Right now she was showing off and he was busy burning this moment into his brain for the rest of his life.

 

The dance wasn’t very long but it didn’t take much for his breathing to get labored as he reached out to touch her like some desperately insatiable moron. She giggled and walked herself into his outstretched arms, seating herself comfortably on his cock. Back and forth she rocked until the room got hot and he could feel her wetness through his cotton underwear.”

 

“Oh god, Juggie. I can’t wait until you’re inside me,” she whispered, pressing sweet kisses along his neck, biting just behind his ear until she got him to moan the way she had apparently been searching for. “That’s such a good noise, too. You make the prettiest ones.”

 

“I want you,” he begged, pawing at her chest. “Please. Please stop teasing.”

 

His touches were messy, without rhythm, but Betty shivered with every caress, lost to the pleasure they found with one another. He could come like this. He had come like this, multiple times, on this very couch. She had such a wicked way of moving her body and he was putty in her hands. Betty knew exactly where to breath, where to touch, where to kiss to turn him into a destroyed mess within minutes. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so hot.

 

Her hips stiled immediately and Jughead missed the sort rut of pleasure coursing down his spine. But deep down he knew this was for the best. Tonight wasn’t just an experimental dry hump on the couch, where he’d pin her beneath him and rut against her until she was practically screaming and he had to throw out another pair of boxers. This was about them, their moment, him giving the part of himself he had always been frightened to share with anyone else to her.

 

“The bedroom,” she said finally, threading their fingers together. “I want to make love to you in a bed, not on the couch. We can save the couch for next time, though. I’ll ride you like I do when we grind.”

 

The promise of next time was nearly as intoxicating as the smell of sex that was wafting off of her. Or maybe it was them. It clung to everything in the air, encouraging him to follow her lead. They collapsed in bed together, laughing when Hot Dog knocked Jughead’s feet out from underneath him. 

 

Betty laughed, tangling her hands in his hair and giving a little pull. Her nails felt good on his scalp and if it weren’t for the promise of pleasures—and the uncomfortably tight feeling in his boxers—he could have fallen asleep right then and there. “Can you go get him out of here? I just think it’s weird if he watches. Caramel used to do that and I always felt like I was fornicating in front of my kids. Like she knew what was happening and was judging me on it just because she couldn’t go into heat anymore.” 

 

He snorted but followed her instructions. Quickly, he shooed Hot Dog out of the room—only having to bribe him with one of the bones he kept lying around the house—and closed the door with a final thud behind him. That made it all feel real.

 

He turned back to the bed and saw her there, spread out on his plaid sheets like an angel. She had kicked the lacey, barely-there underwear she had been wearing off her legs, leaving her bare. This, of course, was something she had done on purpose, because he could see her plain as day, every inch of her. It made him blush and stutter as he tried to form a single sentence. Anything would be better than what was lingering on the tip of his tongue, which just so happened to be  _ wow you even have a nice vagina _ . He wasn’t sure that was the best way to make a girl want to fuck you. Then again, maybe she was into that sort of blatant flirtation. She was with him, Jughead Jones, worst flirt in the entire world, after all.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

It was teasing, purposeful, as she spread herself a little wider so he could see every inch of her like some exquisite renaissance painting. Jughead was having a hard time breathing. It felt like the world was shifting so exponentially fast that at any moment a giant hole might appear from nowhere and swallow him whole. Perhaps she could sense the sudden discomfort and worry that consumed him, because Betty bolted up straight and walked to him, placing her hands on his cheeks gently. 

 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Every step of the way I want to make sure you’re on board, that you’re ready. If you change your mind halfway through, or right now, or even right in the middle, I will not be offended. I know this is a lot. I know giving this part of yourself is a lot and I am so grateful you picked me, but you don’t have to pick me tonight, if it’s too much.”

 

“No.” He tried again, noticing how soft his voice sounded the first time. “No, Betty, I want this. I want this with you and I want it tonight. I think it just hit me how real this is, that you’re actually here and you want to have sex with me, and I’m going to have sex. And I think… Well, I think I’m afraid it’s not going to be good.”

 

Betty smiled and sat on the edge of his bed, pulling him to sit beside her. It was an intimate moment, even without the absence of her underwear and the pressure in his boxers. “It’s going to be good. Maybe physically it’ll be a bit of a mess, because the first time is a lot for everyone. You don’t have a built up stamina and you’re not used to how it’s going to feel. You might hate it and if you do that’s okay. We’ll pick up the pieces and figure out what you do like. This is all another step in experimentation. But what I will tell you is that it’s going to be good for us, emotionally, because we’re letting each other in. I’m here for you and I know no matter what happens tonight, I’m going to be walking around giggling because I spent the night with my boyfriend and he loves me and I love him. Everything else we can work out. If there’s a few kinks tonight, unintended ones, then we’ll figure out how to iron them out, or work with them. I’m not expecting you to be some porn star for me tonight, or ever. I’m expecting something special and it will be with you.”

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most amazing person in the entire world?” Jughead grinned, planting a kiss to her lips. She murmured a thank you, before pulling him down against her.

 

They tumbled into bed together, a messy mix of limbs and kisses. Their teeth knocked a few times, like they did when they first started making out, but he just smiled and kissed her even harder. This was bliss. Every moment together was bliss and he could hardly keep his head on straight as he felt her reach down and grip his cock through the cotton of his boxers, dragging her nails along his shaft. He shuttered in her grip and begged with slurred words.

  
“God I can’t believe it,” she moaned. “I’m the only pussy you’re ever going to have. This cock is all mine. I want you inside me, Jug. But first, let me show you something.” She took his hand in her small hands, gently guiding him towards her opening. Panting, cheeks pink with desire, she looked up at him with a hazy grin. “It’s been awhile. I want your fingers inside me. To help me stretch. Can you do that for me?”

 

There were no words that came out of his mouth. It was a halfhearted, garbled mess that ended with him nodding and pressing two fingers inside of her. She winced, but sighed in contentment as she rocked her hips down on him. It was mesmerizing to watch her work on him, to see the pleasure flicking across her features, to feel the warmth of her pussy clamped tight around his fingers. Cautiously, he curled his fingers up.

 

He was rewarded with the most beautiful sound in the entire world. “Jughead! Oh god. Oh god, like that. Like that but slower. Not as rough.” He followed her lead and watched as her face melted, lips parting into a little ‘O’ of ecstacy. “Oh, just like that.”

 

Jughead could have spent his entire night like that, with his fingers buried inside her, watching her wither and moan and scream his name. He was acutely aware of how thin these walls were and how many times he had heard someone else’s nights. A soft embarrassment flooded over him with the unsettling worry that he was going to have to answer people’s questions about this tomorrow, but then she smiled at him all hazy and whispered that if he didn’t take his fingers out of her right now she was going to cum, and all of that disappeared. It was just them tonight. Everything else was white noise.

 

Betty took his wrist again and gently pushed him away. Following instructions was something he was good at—despite how much he felt like he was floundering right now—so he complied. It was a split second decision to bring the digits to his mouth and lick them clean, and apparently a good one if the way his girlfriend’s pupils blew open wide was any indication.

 

“You’re practically a natural, Juggie,” she cooed, pulling him down to kiss her again. “Are you ready? Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

 

“I appreciate that you keep asking. Really, I do, because it means a lot to me that you care enough to ask, but I’m positive. I want this. I um, I even bought condoms.” It had been a mortifying trip to the super market, where he spent twenty minutes staring at condoms, trying to figure out why anyone wouldn’t buy the ‘for her pleasure’ ones and why the ‘cooling’ ones were half priced. Then he had to figure out if it was more embarrassing to stuff the box between a loaf of bread and his three bananas or pull them out first and stand there pretending like he had any clue what the hell he was doing with his life. As someone who had worked minimum wage supermarket jobs before, he knew no one would even take a second glance toward any of it…  until they caught the dog collar at the bottom.

 

(Hot Dog had decided to eat through his, and as much as Jughead wanted to avoid mortification, he was also incredibly lazy and did not feel like going to a different store just to avoid someone reading between the lines and finding kinky context clues.)

 

“What I would have paid to see you trying to figure that one out,” she teased. “Okay. Go grab one and we’ll do this. Finally.”

 

Getting the condom on was trickier than he had expected. His hands were shaky and eventually Betty had to help steady him, gently rolling down the latex until it was situated comfortably around him. She eyed him hungrily, licking her lips before positioning their bodies so he was lined up at her entrance. She stared up at him with hooded eyes and whispered, “Take me, Juggie.”

 

The first thing he noticed when he was finally engulfed in her is how warm she was. Warm and soft and beautiful, and he knew he was moaning from the look on her face. Betty seemed at peace, relaxed with him buried between her legs, nails running along his scalp as she whispered sweet, loving things in his ear.

 

“Is it good?” He could hear her after the initial shock started to fade, so sweet and gentle.

 

He nodded once, unable to even comprehend speaking any more than that. “Yes. It’s so good. I-I want… Could I move?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, move, Juggie. I want you to move. I want to feel you inside of me.”

 

There was so much friction he could hardly keep his vision straight. Every thrust sent him spiraling, every slap of skin, every sharp gasp that left her lips. He was free falling with nowhere to go, lost in love and lust for Betty Cooper. Her toes curled with delight as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled him in faster, meeting every thrust with an excited groan. He couldn’t make out the words he was saying. They tumbled out of him with nothing to stop them. Praise. Love. Worship. Whatever he was saying, it seemed to make Betty happy.

 

“Harder,” she whispered. “Harder. Angle u-UP. There it is. Oh god you really are learning quick.” His thrusts were punctuated by a myriad of lude noises that went straight to his cock. He could feel the pressure building. Inch by inch until it would be too much for him to bare. Jughead bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself steady, to last for as long as he possibly could, but there wasn’t much strength left in him.

 

“Betty. Close,” he murmured against her skin. “Please. I’m close.”

 

She whined, pulling roughly on his hair, making his whole scalp tingle and his nails dig into the mattress just to keep himself from finishing off right then and there. “Not yet. Not yet. I’m so close, Juggie. You can do it. Just. Just a little bit more.”

 

It took everything in him to hold back, especially when he saw her reach between their joined bodies and start to trace figure eights on her clit. His eyes didn’t know where to look. Every inch of her was beautiful perfection and he wanted to have the scene etched into the folds of his brain for the rest of his days. 

 

He could feel when she was getting close. There was a flutter of her walls so intense they both moaned together and his thrusts grew frantic. She was chanting something, praying to some God in heaven, thrashing beneath him. He came first, a shout of her name against skin shiny with sweat. A few more thrusts was all he had to offer out of his spent body, but it brought her there all the same and if he hadn’t cum a few moments ago, the tight clamp of her muscles around him would have milked the last of him dry.

 

They collapsed in bed together, bones made of jelly, panting and smiling. After a few moments, Betty finally nudged him. “You’re crushing me. Also you have to take the condom off and I have to go pee. You know, to avoid infections.”

 

“Is that really a thing?”

 

“It absolutely is. Safety and hygiene first. Always.” With a kiss, she was off, stumbling to his bathroom completely naked. He could hardly stop smiling

 

After she stumbled her way back into the room, they curled up in his bed together, all gentle caresses and sweet murmurs. It was like he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from her. Intimacy at such a physical level had not scared him the way he thought it would. If anything, he felt good, like the last of his self-imposed walls had shattered and here was Betty before him looking like a goddess, and one that actually wanted to be with him.

 

Jughead took her hand and brought her palm to his lips in a gentle kiss. He was having a hard time putting together all the words he wanted to say to her, but none so perfectly encompassed what he was feeling in that moment as, “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Juggie. So much. You’re the one for me. I know it.”

 

He echoed her sentiments and they fell into a comfortable pillow talk. He used to watch movies and never understand why people would lay there talking in post-coital bliss for hours on end. But here, with Betty, it all seemed so natural. She told him a few more horror stories about her kids and he returned the favor with some of his favorite Sierra McCoy anecdotes.

 

Work talk turned into discussions of summer, and Betty eagerly reminded him that she would have a lot of time off, and perhaps, if he was feeling so inclined, they could do something together. Now that he was a full-time employee somewhere, there were vacation days starting to add up. Everything with her had a future attached to it and he was starting to be able to paint the picture in his mind of life down the road. Maybe one day they’d move in together, or he’d get that Central Park proposal his brain kept dreaming about at night. Or maybe they’d always be like this. Comfortable. Happy. At ease.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to. We could go somewhere for a week. Wherever you want.”

 

Betty lit up, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh my god, I’ll have to start planning. I’ll make a list of exciting places to go. It’ll be something nice to look forward to given that my mom and sister have decided they’re going to visit during the summer. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with them buzzing around my life, critiquing everything for not being herbal or whatever.”

 

“Let’s start small. How did you deal with them growing up?”

 

She paused and looked down, a slight pink flush on her cheeks giving away what he might have guessed to be embarrassment as she chewed over his question. For a minute Jughead worried he had overstepped and said something stupid. Finally, she answered. “I didn’t. Or, I guess I didn’t well. I used to self harm. You can’t really see the scars anymore.” She opened up her palms and he could just barely make out a few faint crescent marks. “Right there. I would get so upset I would curl my fingers into my palms until they bled. It was terrible and in retrospect I’m really lucky I never got any type of infection or something. I stopped after high school though.”

 

“How’d you learn to stop?”

 

“I started going to therapy. Sometimes I still go.” She said the second part softer, quieter.

 

“Betty.” He was gentle with his words, purposeful. He cupped her cheeks and brought her eyes up to meet his. “That is so admirable. I’m almost jealous. I never had the guts to go to therapy, but the fact that you did and you do… Be proud of yourself for that. You’re such an amazing person.”

 

“You always flatter me and I never know what to do with it. Maybe you could start seeing a therapist too, Jug. I know there’s a lot of trauma in your life, and it might help to work through it with someone. No judgements and no rush either way, though. It’s just an idea. And I know a couple good and cheap ones in the area. You said you’re even filling out the paperwork to get insurance, right?”

 

“Yeah, I am. Like a real life adult. I’m going to have to pay the government so I don’t die on their watch feeding into their capitalistic bullshit.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes, shushing him with a quick smack with one of his pillows. “Once you do that really necessary thing, I’ll sit down with you and we can figure it out. We’ll find someone. Like I said, if you want to. Absolutely no pressure. None. Not even a little bit of pressure.”

 

“I get it. Always no pressure with you. That’s why I love you. You let me do things in my own time. And I’ll think about it. Maybe sitting down and talking with someone isn’t such a bad idea.” He watched her smile before it slowly morphed into a sleepy yawn. “But first, it’s bedtime. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

“I certainly hope so,” she mumbled sleepily against him, resting her head on his chest and listening to the steady thunder of his heart. “This is your apartment.”

  
_ Maybe right now _ , he thought as he watched her fall fast asleep,  _ but maybe one day it’ll be ours. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, and Finally: Epilogue: The First of Many


	14. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...have no words. Only thank yous. Only an endless, ever present outpour of THANK YOU, for being part of this journey with me. I love this fic, I love this beta (shout out to @bettscoopr). I am so grateful I got to share this fic with you all and I can only hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. This was such a wild ride and I'm sad it's over. Well, maybe not completely older. There are a few codas that I'm interested in writing so...we'll see ;)
> 
> Once again, thank you for being part of this fic. Being a reader, being a commenter, being someone who came into my ask box and saying hi. Thank you. THANK YOU <3 I am forever humbled.

The few months left until summer vacation passed by in a blur. Work continued on, with Sierra tossing Jughead assignments left and right, helping build his portfolio from the ground up. He finished the fist of a collection of short stories about his post-college life and was currently in talks with the magazine to have them moved to a weekly, anecdotal column. Jughead could hardly keep his head on straight he felt so overwhelmingly busy. But every afternoon he would stumble through the front door and Betty would be there—sometimes naked, sometimes just baking, both were good—and they’d fall so easily into a natural rhythm it was like they’d known each other their whole lives.

 

His father had minded his pleading and had not dared to reach out to him in the last few months, aside from a half-assed, drunken FaceTime that he didn’t even think about answering. Jellybean and Gladys were patching up their relationship inch by inch. His sister was a frequent caller now and had, as of prom, come out officially and formally, waltzing into the dance arm in arm wearing matching bandanas with her girlfriend.

 

Gryphons and Gargoyles still acted as a biweekly congregation, and Kevin was even letting Jughead take the reigns as Dungeon Master more and more frequently. Not without some paranoia, mind you, but he was certainly trying to let things run a little off the rails. Betty had shimmied her way into the group effortlessly, further endearing herself by providing food that didn’t have to be triple checked to make sure Fangs didn’t need an EpiPen, but that also didn’t come directly out of a grocery store bakery box.

 

Jughead and Betty were still in the process of planning out their much-desired summer vacation adventure. She stubbornly insisted that they didn’t take his bike on a cross-country road trip, claiming it would mean hotel fees and having to pack lightly, but he could feel he was slowly whittling away at her, bit by bit. It was hard to plan it all around the erratic force of nature that was Alice Cooper. He had met her once, during an impromptu phone conversation where Betty was in the shower and he had thought it was his phone ringing, not hers, only to have his ear chewed off by easily one of the most terrifying women in the world. And this coming from the man who had Gladys Jones as a mother.

 

Every few days Polly and Alice would call off their visit, claiming something about their various commitments to the Farm, only to change their minds again and inform Betty they would be coming a week from that date. Their visit kept getting pushed back or moved around and Jughead could tell Betty was at her wits end from it all. He had half a mind to buy a set of tickets to anywhere just to get them somewhere where her family couldn’t track them, but he knew if things weren’t meticulously thought out, he could end up with a very anxious girlfriend on his hands. Not exactly conducive to a relaxing vacation.

 

Lodge’s Luxury Apartments had changed a lot in the short time he had been here. There was a ‘For Rent’ sign on the building again, as Moose and Midge had vacated the apartment beside him after Kevin loudly proclaimed there would never be a ‘them’ again. Fangs and Veronica were currently in talks about the apartment, unbeknownst to Kevin, who was all but constantly complaining about his boyfriend not having enough space for anything in his studio apartment. Fangs had made Jughead swear to secrecy just in case it fell through, but how could it when Veronica Lodge was eager to get tenants in just to keep the place afloat?

 

The pool was fixed. The elevator was not, and at this point Jughead didn’t think it ever would be. There were just some things that could never be righted. Veronica claimed an elevator repair man had come once or twice, only to leave and have it miraculously shut down right back again. It must have been Godly intervention and karmic retribution that made the pipe in her apartment burst two days before their weekly potluck.

 

He had laughed, loudly, upon reading the email that went out to all the apartment tenants cancelling the affair due to unforeseen circumstances, only to crave the sweet release of death when Betty offered to host instead. At his apartment. To be fair, it was less cluttered than hers since she had to pack away a lot of her school supplies inside her neatly-organized tupperware containers while he still had the bare minimum for living standards. There were places to sit and eat, a kitchen that worked, and a dog to keep people entertained if all else failed.

 

Slowly but surely, Jughead had carve out a space for himself in the complex. He had friends. He had people he might dare to call family. He had a girlfriend whom he loved and who loved him back. Things were good. So it felt stupid to tempt fate and try to throw a party. There were not a great many things that he was afraid of, but forced socialization where he was the host and thus could not abscond to the nearest place of refuge was utterly terrifying.

 

Preparing for the party might have been the worst torture of them all. Betty quickly whisked them away to the thrift store for an extra table and folding chairs to make sure there would be enough seating for the usual crowd and anyone who might dare to crash. Ethel still watched them,and Jughead still felt self conscious—though a bit more cocky—about it. Despite it being a potluck, his girlfriend insisted that she not only bake enough pies to feed an armada of hungry soldiers (a good call given who she was dating), but also enough finger sandwiches that if Veronica’s main dish didn’t turn out well then the guests would not starve. That really depended on who would be cooking—Veronica or Archie—but neither was truly a promising option.

 

They cleaned his apartment, set up the room, and premixed a few drinks so that people wouldn’t be stepping over each other to get drunk. At the end of it all, he felt a little less terrified than he did before. That was, until, the first guest stepped through the doors and suddenly his safe haven became flooded with people. They were all people he knew, even people he liked, but it felt like an invasion of his personal space.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Betty said softly, giving his hand a squeeze once she caught him hiding in the kitchen stuffing his face with mini ham and swiss sandwiches. “I promise. It’s just like it always is. There’s even less people here than at a normal Veronica-style potluck because we only invited our friends. But if it gets too much we can fake appendicitis and kick everyone out, alright?”

 

He smiled and kissed her quickly. Relief flooded his senses, even if their escape plan was a bit haphazard and difficult to execute. “Alright. Alright, that’s totally fine. It’ll all be fine. We know these people.”

 

“Exactly. Speaking of, I was wondering if we should tell Kevin and Fangs what’s happened on the couch they’re currently canoodling on, or if we should just let it go.”

 

“We’ll wait and tell them until it’ll crush them. I want to see the look on Kevin’s face when I tell him we had to get it professionally steam cleaned a few weeks ago. No explanation other than that. He doesn’t need to know it was because we forgot to take Hot Dog out for a walk because someone wouldn’t let me out of bed.”

 

“Well, someone could get out of bed easier if someone wasn’t so incredibly hot. I really don’t see how that’s my fault.”

 

Now that Betty had finally managed to bring him out into the fray, he was bombarded with casual smalltalk. He got asked about work, which was boring, but Betty would almost always swoop in and save the day with some compelling information about a football team he didn’t watch or a news story that had been covered. There was only so much he could answer about Sierra without blowing the lid on the secret of his upcoming column. For now it all had to be hush hush. Once the paperwork was signed, well, then he would drink so much he might throw up in celebration, probably at the best of Sweet Pea, who was currently floating around the room hitting on every person he saw not wearing a wedding ring.

 

“G&G this week is going to be good,” Kevin teased from his place in Fangs’ lap. “Trust me. I’ve been planning something absolutely dastardly.”

 

Cheryl and Toni were curled up in one of the folding chairs and Fangs looked positively smitten with his new boyfriend, running his hands through his hair while he spoke, pulling at the fuzz on his sweater. Kevin smacked his hand away when it started to wander, but not without a little knowing smile and a whisper no one likely wanted to hear the contents of.

 

“That’s what you said last time,” Toni raised an eyebrow, “And then Jughead threw himself out of a window and switched places with the ogre, destroying your entire puzzle.”

 

“Nonsense, that went all according to plan. And this time, I’ve made it idiot-proof.”

 

“That’s the mistake.” Jughead smiled. “You made it idiot-proof, sure, but did you make it Sweet-Pea-proof? Because he far exceeds the average idiot’s ability to do the unexpected.”

 

From out of nowhere the giant man came, wrapping his arms around Jughead’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. “Heard you talking shit, little man. You wanna say that to my face?”

 

“Yeah, I said you’re a fucking idiot.”

 

Betty waved her hands frantically, trying to break up whatever was happening between them. “Hey, hey. If you’re going to fight, boys, do it outside on the patio. I care about this furniture!”

 

“Oh, just let them have at it. It’ll be more entertaining than that time Reggie and Archie got high off of TT’s favorite strain and ended up nearly falling off the roof convinced it was perfectly safe to walk on the edge. We haven’t had excitement like that in years!” Cheryl cackled.

 

After some push and pull, they finally managed to break Sweet Pea and Jughead apart. Jughead could feel Sweet Pea’s touch turn tender as he pulled him gently away for a few minutes. It wasn’t like his friend to get sentimental, or even serious in the middle of a party, so when his mouth formed a hard line, Jughead fought every fiber in his body to keep from breaking into a cold sweat. “Is something wrong, Sweets? You seem… serious.”

 

“I am. I just… here me out, okay? I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to pretend this ever happened. I will walk away and look hot and we will never speak of this again. You’re like my brother, right? I remember being really nervous when you first started dating Betty. I was like, ‘Ah man, how in the hell is he going to fuck this one up for himself?’ Because you self-destruct when shit hits the fan. And then when your parents showed up? I thought, ‘Well we had a good run, because how am I going to keep him from going off the fucking deep end?’ But you didn’t. You made things work and now you’ve got the girl and I’m happy for you. If anyone I know deserves it, it’s you, after all the shit we’ve been through.”

 

Jughead softened, touched by his best friend’s words. It was hard to place how much they meant to him, to define why Sweet Pea saying them made it all the more real, all the more better. Things were good in his life, for the first time maybe ever. “Sweet Pea, I—”

 

“Nope. No. Remember, I’m going to walk away now. I’m going to punch you in the shoulder and we’re going to pretend this never happened.” Before Jughead could retort, he felt a sharp sting on his shoulder, and watched his friend walk away.

  
Betty came up to him curious and snaked their hands together again. “Sorry, I got distracted with Cheryl and Toni. Did something happen?”

 

“Nope. Nothing at all. Just Sweet Pea being weird like usual.” But he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

 

They made their way around the room, saying ‘Hi’ to people they barely new, or having inappropriate conversations with those they did. It took them some time to find Veronica and Archie near the kitchen. Archie was whispering something, looking like a radiant ray of sunshine, while Veronica nursed a glass of water.

 

Seeing their approach, Veronica smiled. “I can’t believe I’m going to have another apartment to try and sell to someone.” 

 

It seemed odd, to look at Veronica and see her without a glass of wine in her hand, talking with guests and making them feel like the center of attention. Jughead eyed her water glass wearily. At any minute, she could throw it at him, claiming that it was him who had sabotaged her apartment. Well, no, probably not, but he also wouldn’t completely put it past her.

 

“I know, I know. I wish I could keep renting my apartment, but the truth is, I keep moving more and more stuff into Jug’s, you know? I barely sleep in that place anymore. We spent a long time talking about it and we decided that moving in is best. It’s better if I move in than he moves up there.

 

“We couldn’t just leave the stirpper pole behind.” Jughead took a drink of his wine, deadpan like always. “Too much character.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes and pushed him slightly. “But I’ll stay out my lease.”

 

“You know you don’t have to. Being my best friend gives you certain… wiggle room in your contract.”

 

Betty waved Varonica off, smiling brightly. “Please. I wouldn’t put you in that position. Besides, for right now it’s probably for the best I have some place to store everything. We’ve been moving things down here slowly but I can’t do much until I know which room at the school is mine and I can finally hang up all my stuff.”

 

“Yikes. Must be hard to get moved Pods. I, as a music teacher, have never had that problem. Principal Weatherbee’s probably still mad you beat him in the faculty dodgeball tournament during Field Day,” Archie teased.

 

“Shut your dirty mouth, Andrews, before I teach my children the improper way to hold a tambourine.”

 

“You wouldn’t!”

 

“I would and you know it!”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes, waving a hand between the two of them. “No more arguing, Archikins. You know you started the antagonization. Please. I had something I wanted to tell you both, before I make the big announcement. Which, technically, was what I was going to do tonight but I figured I’d do it here and now for you both before next week’s big event, praying the plumber gets everything under control. Archie and I… well something exciting is happening and we’re—”

 

“Veronica’s almost two months pregnant and we’re having a baby and I’m going to be a dad!” Archie gushed. 

 

Jughead blinked. And then he blinked again, before looking down at Betty who was blinking, too. Archie looked like a puppy, undisturbed by the silence as he beamed at his friends, but he could tell by Veronica’s shift that she was almost uncomfortable to be sharing the news. Given the gossip about what her family was like, he really couldn’t blame her.

 

It was Betty who broke the pregnant pause first. She reached out and pulled her best friend into a tight hug. “I am so excited for you, Veronica. I know you and Archie had talked about wanting to start trying, and this is great news! You’re both in a good place in your lives and I know you’ll be great parents.”

 

“And I know you’ll be an amazing aunt.” Veronica relaxed a little, giving her friend a gentle pat on the back before they pulled apart, both beaming.

 

Things like this were never Jughead’s strong suit, but he tried his best to be supportive, kind, and even, perhaps, a bit excited for them. “Congrats. On fatherhood. Don’t fuck it up?”

 

“I won’t,” Archie assumed him, seemingly content with the acknowledgement, “I’m excited. This is everything I’ve ever wanted, man, everything.”

 

“I know. I know. I’m excited for you, too.”

 

“You know what I think, man?” Archie said softly as he threw his arm around Jughead’s shoulders. “I think this if the first of many potlucks in this apartment.”

 

From the back they heard a loud crash, and one quick look over his shoulder showed Sweet Pea having hit the ground in a desperate attempt to show off his moves on the stripper pole. Betty rushed to his side with a first aid kit, smacking his hand away when he tried to tell her everything was fine despite the small cut bleeding on his forehead. It was a moment of understated chaos, but the kind that felt good. These were his people. His family. His world. He had finally found what he’d been looking for his entire life: a place to belong.

 

He couldn’t stop smiling, even as he bit out, “God, I sure as shit hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're at all interested in my other writing, I have two other fics on the go. Dance with the Devil, which is in it's early stages but involves the Prince of Hell!Jughead, or When the Lights Go Out, a Zombie apocalypse AU filled with tropes. If neither of those are your speed I've got another fic that's almost finished being written which will likely be posted very soon ;)
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! As always, let me know what you think and find me on tumblr @tory-b


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